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THE RED THUMB MARK 








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THE RED 
THUMB MARK 


v BY 

R. AUSTIN FREEMAN 


AUTHOR OF “THE SINGING BONE,” “THE BLUE SCARAB” 



NEW YORK 

DODD, MEAD & COMPANY 


1924 



Published in U. S. A., 1924, by 
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY, Inc. 
Printed in U.S.A. 


Published, September, 1924 
Second Printing, October, 1924 


SIFT 

PUBLISH ITS 

J an !0 > 5 , 


t 


P R E FA C E 

In writing the following story, the author has 
had in view no purpose other than that of affording 
entertainment to such readers as are interested in 
problems of crime and their solutions; and the story 
itself differs in no respect from others of its class, 
excepting in that an effort has been made to keep 
within the probabilities of ordinary life, both in the 
characters and in the incidents. 

Nevertheless it may happen that the book may 
serve a useful purpose in drawing attention to cer¬ 
tain popular misapprehensions on the subject of 
finger-prints and their evidential value; misappre¬ 
hensions the extent of which may be judged when 
we learn from the newspapers that several Con¬ 
tinental commercial houses have actually substituted 
finger-prints for signed initials. 

The facts and figures contained in Mr. Singleton’s 
evidence, including the very liberal estimate of the 
population of the globe, are, of course, taken from 
Mr. Galton’s great and important work on finger¬ 
prints; to which the reader who is interested in the 


v 


PREFACE 


subject is referred for much curious and valuable 
information. 

In conclusion, the author desires to express his 
thanks to his friend Mr. Bernard E. Bishop for the 
assistance rendered to him in certain photographic 
experiments, and to those officers of the Central 
Criminal Court who very kindly furnished him with 
details of the procedure in criminal trials. 


vi 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. My Learned Brother .... 1 

II. The Suspect. 10 

III. A Lady in the Case. 27 

IV. Confidences., . 48 

V. The ‘Thumbograph*. 65 

VI. Committed for Trial .... 79 

VII. Shoals and Quicksands .... 94 

VIII. A Suspicious Accident .... 105 

IX. The Prisoner. 115 

X. Polton is Mystified. 128 

XI. The Ambush. 143 

XII. It Might Have Been. 166 

XIII. Murder by Post. 179 

XIV. A Startling Discovery .... 199 

XV. The Finger Print Experts . . 215 

XVI. Thorndyke Plays His Card . . 258 

XVII. At Last. 296 

vii 
























0 













THE RED THUMB MARK 










THE RED THUMB MARK 


CHAPTER I 

MY LEARNED BROTHER 

£ 4/^ 0NFLAGRATAM An ° 1^77. Fabrica- 
1. tam An° 1698. Richardo Powell Ar- 
miger Thesaurar.” The words, set in 
four panels, which formed a frieze beneath the 
pediment of a fine brick portico, summarized the 
history of one of the tall houses at the upper end 
of King’s Bench Walk and as I, somewhat absently, 
read over the inscription, my attention was divided 
between admiration of the exquisitely finished 
carved brickwork and the quiet dignity of the build¬ 
ing, and an effort to reconstitute the dead and gone 
Richard Powell, and the stirring times in which he 
played his part. 

I was about to turn away when the empty frame 
of the portico became occupied by a figure, and one 
so appropriate, in its wig and obsolete habiliments, 
to the old-world surroundings that it seemed to 
complete the picture, and I lingered idly to look at 
it. The barrister had halted in the doorway to turn 
over a sheaf of papers that he held in his hand, and, 
1 


2 


THE RED THUMB MARK 

as he replaced the red tape which bound them 
together, he looked up and our eyes met. For a 
moment we regarded one another with the incurious 
gaze that casual strangers bestow on one another; 
then there was a flash of mutual recognition; the 
impassive and rather severe face of the lawyer 
softened into a genial smile, and the figure, detach¬ 
ing itself from its frame, came down the steps with 
a hand extended in cordial greeting. 

“My dear Jervis,” he exclaimed, as we clasped 
hands warmly, “this is a great and delightful 
surprise. How often have I thought of my old 
comrade and wondered if I should ever see him 
again, and lo! here he is, thrown up on the sound¬ 
ing beach of the Inner Temple, like the proverbial 
bread cast upon the waters.” 

“Your surprise, Thorndyke, is nothing to mine,” 
I replied, “for your bread has at least returned as 
bread; whereas I am in the position of a man who, 
having cast his bread upon the waters, sees it return 
in the form of a buttered muffin or a Bath bun. 
I left a respectable medical practitioner and I find 
him transformed into a bewigged and begowned 
limb of the law.” 

Thorndyke laughed at the comparison. 

“Liken not your old friend unto a Bath bun,” 
said he. “Say, rather, that you left him a chrysalis 
and come back to find him a butterfly. But the 
change is not so great as you think. Hippocrates 
is only hiding under the gown of Solon, as you will 


MY LEARNED BROTHER 


3 


understand when I explain my metamorphosis; and 
that I will do this very evening, if you have no 
engagement.” 

“I am one of the unemployed at present,” I said, 
“and quite at your service.” 

“Then come round to my chambers at seven,” 
said Thorndyke, “and we will have a chop and a 
pint of claret together and exchange autobiogra¬ 
phies. I am due in court in a few minutes.” 

“Do you reside within that noble old portico?” 
I asked. 

“No,” replied Thorndyke. “I often wish I did. 
It would add several inches to one’s stature to feel 
that the mouth of one’s burrow was graced with a 
Latin inscription for admiring strangers to ponder 
over. No; my chambers are some doors further 
down—number 6a” —and he turned to point out 
the house as we crossed towards Crown Office Row. 

At the top of Middle Temple Lane we parted, 
Thorndyke taking his way with fluttering gown 
towards the Law Courts, while I directed my steps 
westward towards Adam Street, the chosen haunt 
of the medical agent. 

The soft-voiced bell of the Temple clock was tell¬ 
ing out the hour of seven in muffled accents (as 
though it apologised for breaking the studious 
silence) as I emerged from the archway of Mitre 
Court and turned into King’s Bench Walk. 

The paved footway was empty save for a single 
figure, pacing slowly before the doorway of number 


4 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


6a, in which, though the wig had now given place 
to a felt hat and the gown to a jacket, I had no 
difficulty in recognising my friend. 

“Punctual to the moment, as of old,” said he, 
meeting me half-way. “What a blessed virtue is 
punctuality, even in small things. I have just been 
taking the air in Fountain Court, and will now in¬ 
troduce you to my chambers. Here is my humble 
retreat.” 

We passed in through the common entrance and 
ascended the stone stairs to the first floor, where we 
were confronted by a massive door, above which my 
friend’s name was written in white letters. 

“Rather a forbidding exterior,” remarked Thorn- 
dyke, as he inserted the latchkey, “but it is homely 
enough inside.” 

The heavy door swung outwards and disclosed a 
baize-covered inner door, which Thorndyke pushed 
open and held for me to pass in. 

“You will find my chambers an odd mixture,” 
said Thorndyke, “for they combine the attractions 
of an office, a museum, a laboratory and a work¬ 
shop.” 

“And a restaurant,” added a small, elderly man, 
who was decanting a bottle of claret by means of 
a glass syphon : “you forgot that, sir.” 

“Yes, I forgot that, Polton,” said Thorndyke, 
“but I see you have not.” He glanced towards a 
small table that had been placed near the fire and 
set out with the requisites for our meal. 


MY LEARNED BROTHER 5 

“Tell me,” said Thorndyke, as we made the initial 
onslaught on the products of Polton’s culinary ex¬ 
periments, “what has been happening to you since 
you left the hospital six years ago?” 

“My story is soon told,” I answered, somewhat 
bitterly. “It is not an uncommon one. My funds 
ran out, as you know, rather unexpectedly. When I 
had paid my examination and registration fees the 
coffer was absolutely empty, and though, no doubt, 
a medical diploma contains—to use Johnson’s phrase 
—the potentiality of wealth beyond the dreams of 
avarice, there is a vast difference in practice between 
the potential and the actual. I have, in fact, been 
earning a subsistence, sometimes as an assistant, 
sometimes as a locum tenens. Just now I’ve got no 
work to do, and so have entered my name on Turci- 
val’s list of eligibles.” 

Thorndyke pursed up his lips and frowned. 

“It’s a wicked shame, Jervis,” said he presently, 
“that a man of your abilities and scientific acquire¬ 
ments should be frittering away his time on odd jobs 
like some half-qualified wastrel.” 

“It is,” I agreed. “My merits are grossly under¬ 
valued by a stiff-necked and obtuse generation. 
But what would you have, my learned brother? 
If poverty steps behind you and claps the occulting 
bushel over your thirty thousand candle-power 
luminary, your brilliancy is apt to be obscured.” 

“Yes, I suppose that is so,” grunted Thorndyke, 
and he remained for a time in deep thought. 


6 


THE RED THUMB MARK 

“And now,” said I, “let us have your promised 
explanation. I am positively frizzling with curi¬ 
osity to know what chain of circumstances has con¬ 
verted John Evelyn Thorndyke from a medical 
practitioner into a luminary of the law.” 

Thorndyke smiled indulgently. 

“The fact is,” said he, “that no such transforma¬ 
tion has occurred. John Evelyn Thorndyke is still 
a medical practioner.” 

“What, in a wig and gown!” I exclaimed. 

* “Yes, a mere sheep in wolf’s clothing,” he replied. 
“I will tell you how it has come about. After you 
left the hospital, six years ago, I stayed on, taking up 
any small appointments that were going—assistant 
demonstrator—or curatorships and such like—hung 
about the chemical and physical laboratories, the 
museum and post mortem room, and meanwhile took 
my M.D. and D.Sc. Then I got called to the bar in 
the hope of getting a coronership, but soon after 
this, old Stedman retired unexpectedly—you remem¬ 
ber Stedman, the lecturer on medical jurisprudence 
—and I put in for the vacant post. Rather to my 
surprise, I was appointed lecturer, whereupon I 
dismissed the coronership from my mind, took my 
present chambers and sat down to wait for anything 
that might come.” 

“And what has come?” I asked. 

“Why, a very curious assortment of miscellaneous 
practice,” he replied. “At first I only got an oc¬ 
casional analysis in a doubtful poisoning case, but, 


MY LEARNED BROTHER 


7 


by degrees, my sphere of influence has extended until 
it now includes all cases in which a special knowledge 
of medicine or physical science can be brought to 
bear upon law.” 

“But you plead in court, I observe,” said I. 

“Very seldom,” he replied. “More usually I 
appear in the character of that bete noir of judges 
and counsel—the scientific witness. But in most in¬ 
stances I do not appear at all; I merely direct in¬ 
vestigations, arrange and analyse the results, and 
prime the counsel with facts and suggestions for 
cross-examination.” 

“A good deal more interesting than acting as un¬ 
der-study for an absent g.p.,” said I, a little envious¬ 
ly. “But you deserve to succeed, for you were al¬ 
ways a deuce of a worker, to say nothing of your 
capabilities.” 

“Yes, I worked hard,” replied Thorndyke, “and 
I work hard still; but I have my hours of labour and 
my hours of leisure, unlike you poor devils of general 
practitioners, who are liable to be dragged away 
from the dinner table or roused out of your first 
sleep by—confound it all ! who can that be?” 

For at this moment, as a sort of commentary on 
his self-congratulation, there came a smart rapping 
at the outer door. 

“Must see who it is, I suppose,” he continued, 
“though one expects people to accept the hint of a 
closed oak.” 


8 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


He strode across the room and flung open the 
door with an air of by no means gracious inquiry. 

“It’s rather late for a business call,” said an 
apologetic voice outside, “but my client was anxious 
to see you without delay.” 

“Come in, Mr. Lawley,” said Thorndyke, rather 
stiffly, and, as he held the door open, the two visitors 
entered. They were both men—one middle aged, 
rather foxy in appearance and of a typically legal 
aspect, and the other a fine, handsome young fellow 
of very prepossessing exterior, though at present 
rather pale and wild-looking, and evidently in a 
state of profound agitation. 

“I am afraid,” said the latter, with a glance at 
me and the dinner table, “that our visit—for which 
I am alone responsible—is a most unseasonable one. 
If we are really inconveniencing you, Dr. Thorn- 
dyke, pray tell us, and my business must wait.” 

Thorndyke had cast a keen and curious glance at 
the young man, and he now replied in a much more 
genial tone— 

“I take it that your business is of a kind that will 
not wait, and as to inconveniencing us, why, my 
friend and I are both doctors, and, as you are aware, 
no doctor expects to call any part of the twenty-four 
hours his own unreservedly.” 

I had risen on the entrance of the two strangers, 
and now proposed to take a walk on the Embank¬ 
ment and return later, but the young man inter¬ 
rupted me. 


MY LEARNED BROTHER 


9 


“Pray don’t go away on my account,” he said. 
“The facts that I am about to lay before Dr. Thorn- 
dyke will be known to all the world by this time 
to-morrow, so there is no occasion for any show of 
secrecy.” 

“In that case,” said Thorndyke, “let us draw our 
chairs up to the fire and fall to business forthwith. 
We had just finished our dinner and were waiting 
for the coffee, which I hear my man bringing down 
at this moment.” 

We accordingly drew up our chairs, and when 
Polton had set the coffee on the table and retired, 
the lawyer plunged into the matter without pre¬ 
amble. 


CHAPTER II 

THE SUSPECT 


£ £ T HAD better,” said he, “give you a general 
1 outline of the case as it presents itself to the 
legal mind, and then my client, Mr.Reuben 
Hornby, can fill in the details if necessary, and an¬ 
swer any questions that you may wish to put to him. 

“Mr. Reuben occupies a position of trust in the 
business of his uncle, John Hornby, who is a gold 
and silver refiner and dealer in precious metals gen¬ 
erally. There is a certain amount of outside assay 
work carried on in the establishment, but the main 
business consists in the testing and refining of 
samples of gold sent from certain mines in South 
Africa. 

“About five years ago Mr. Reuben and his cousin 
Walter—another nephew of John Hornby—left 
school, and both were articled to their uncle, with the 
view to their ultimately becoming partners in the 
house; and they have remained with him ever since, 
occupying, as I have said, positions of considerable 
responsibility. 


10 


THE SUSPECT 


11 


“And now for a few words as to how business 
is conducted in Mr. Hornby’s establishment. The 
samples of gold are handed over at the docks to 
some accredited representative of the firm—gen¬ 
erally either Mr. Reuben or Mr. Walter—who has 
been despatched to meet the ship, and conveyed 
either to the bank or to the works according to cir¬ 
cumstances. Of course every effort is made to have 
as little gold as possible on the premises, and the 
bars are always removed to the bank at the earliest 
opportunity; but it happens unavoidably that 
samples of considerable value have often to remain 
on the premises all night, and so the works are 
furnished with a large and powerful safe or strong 
room for their reception. This safe is situated in 
the private office under the eye of the principal, and, 
as an additional precaution, the caretaker, who acts 
as night-watchman, occupies a room directly over the 
office, and patrols the building periodically through 
the night. 

“Now a very strange thing has occurred with re¬ 
gard to this safe. It happens that one of Mr. 
Hornby’s customers in South Africa is interested in 
a diamond mine, and, although transactions in 
precious stones form no part of the business of the 
house, he has, from time to time, sent parcels of 
rough diamonds addressed to Mr. Hornby, to be 
either deposited in the bank or handed on to the 
diamond brokers. 

“A fortnight ago Mr. Hornby was advised that a 


12 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


parcel of stones had been despatched by the Elitiina 
Castle, and it appeared that the parcel was an un¬ 
usually large one and contained stones of exceptional 
size and value. Under these circumstances Mr. 
Reuben was sent down to the docks at an early hour 
in the hope the ship might arrive in time for the 
stones to be lodged in the bank at once. Unfortun¬ 
ately, however, this was not the case, and the dia¬ 
monds had to be taken to the works and locked up in 
the safe.” 

“Who placed them in the safe?” asked Thorn- 
dyke. 

“Mr. Hornby himself, to whom Mr. Reuben de¬ 
livered up the package on his return from the 
docks.” 

“Yes,” said Thorndyke, “and what happened 
next?” 

“Well, on the following morning, when the safe 
was opened, the diamonds had disappeared.” 

“Had the place been broken into?” asked Thorn- 
dyke. 

“No. The place was all locked up as usual, and 
the caretaker, who had made his accustomed rounds, 
had heard nothing, and the safe was, outwardly, 
quite undisturbed. It had evidently been opened 
with keys and locked again after the stones were 
removed.” 

“And in whose custody were the keys of the 
safe?” inquired Thorndyke. 

“Mr. Hornby usually kept the keys himself, but, 


THE SUSPECT 


13 


on occasions, when he was absent from the office, 
he handed them over to one of his nephews—which¬ 
ever happened to be in charge at the time. But on 
this occasion the keys did not go out of his custody 
from the time when he locked up the safe, after 
depositing the diamonds in it, to the time when it 
was opened by him on the following morning.’* 

“And was there anything that tended to throw 
suspicion upon anyone?” asked Thorndyke. 

“Why, yes,” said Mr. Lawley, with an uncom¬ 
fortable glance at his client, “unfortunately there 
was. It seemed that the person who abstracted the 
diamonds must have cut or scratched his thumb or 
finger in some way, for there were two drops of 
blood on the bottom of the safe and one or two 
bloody smears on a piece of paper, and, in addition, 
a remarkably clear imprint of a thumb.” 

“Also in blood?” asked Thorndyke. 

“Yes. The thumb had apparently been put 
down on one of the drops and then, while still wet 
with blood, had been pressed on the paper in taking 
hold of it or otherwise.” 

“Well, and what next?” 

“Well,” said the lawyer, fidgeting in his chair, “to 
make a long story short, the thumb-print has been 
identified as that of Mr. Reuben Hornby.” 

“Ha!” exclaimed Thorndyke. “The plot thick¬ 
ens with a vengeance. I had better jot down a few 
notes before you proceed any further.” 

He took from a drawer a small paper-covered 


14 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


notebook, on the cover of which he wrote “Reuben 
Hornby,” and then, laying the book open on a 
blotting-pad, which he rested on his knee, he made 
a few brief notes. 

“Now,” he said, when he had finished, “with 
reference to this thumb-print. There is no doubt, 
I suppose, as to the identification?” 

“None whatever,” replied Mr. Lawley. “The 
Scotland Yard people, of course, took possession of 
the paper, which was handed to the director of the 
finger-print department for examination and com¬ 
parison with those in their collection. The report 
of the experts is that the thumb-print does not agree 
with any of the thumb-prints of criminals in their 
possession; that it is a very peculiar one, inasmuch 
as the ridge-pattern on the bulb of the thumb—which 
is a remarkably distinct and characteristic one—is 
crossed by the scar of a deep cut, rendering identifi¬ 
cation easy and infallible; that it agrees in every 
respect with the thumb-print of Mr. Reuben Hornby, 
and is, in fact, his thumb-print beyond any possible 
doubt.” 

“Is there any possibility,” asked Thorndyke, 
“that the paper bearing the thumb-print could have 
been introduced by any person?” 

“No,” answered the lawyer. “It is quite im¬ 
possible. The paper on which the mark was found 
was a leaf from Mr. Hornby’s memorandum block. 
He had pencilled on it some particulars relating to 


THE SUSPECT 15 

the diamonds, and laid it on the parcel before he 
closed up the safe.” 

“Was anyone present when Mr. Hornby opened 
the safe in the morning?” asked Thorndyke. 

“No, he was alone,” answered the lawyer. “He 
saw at a glance that the diamonds were missing, and 
then he observed the paper with the thumb-mark 
on it, on which he closed and locked the safe and 
sent for the police.” 

“Is it not rather odd that the thief did not notice 
the thumb-mark, since it was so distinct and con¬ 
spicuous?” 

“No, I think not,” answered Mr. Lawley. “The 
paper was lying face downwards on the bottom of 
the safe, and it was only when he picked it up and 
turned it over that Mr. Hornby discovered the 
thumb-print. Apparently the thief had taken hold 
of the parcel, with the paper on it, and the paper 
had afterwards dropped off and fallen with the 
marked surface downwards—probably when the 
parcel was transferred to the other hand.” 

“You mentioned,” said Thorndyke, “that the 
experts at Scotland Yard have identified this thumb- 
mark as that of Mr. Reuben Hornby. May I ask 
how they came to have the opportunity of making 
the comparison?” 

“Ah !” said Mr. Lawley. “Thereby hangs a very 
curious tale of coincidences. The police, of course, 
when they found that there was so simple a means 
of identification as a thumb-mark, wished to take 


16 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


thumb-prints of all the employees in the works; 
but this Mr. Hornby refused to sanction—rather 
quixotically, as it seems to me—saying that he would 
not allow his nephews to be subjected to such an 
indignity. Now it was, naturally, these nephews in 
whom the police were chiefly interested, seeing that 
they alone had had the handling of the keys, and 
considerable pressure was brought to bear upon Mr. 
Hornby to have the thumb-prints taken. 

“However, he was obdurate, scouting the idea of 
any suspicion attaching to either of the gentlemen 
in whom he had reposed such complete confidence 
and whom he had known all their lives, and so the 
matter would probably have remained a mystery 
but for a very odd circumstance. 

“You may have seen on the bookstalls and in 
shop windows an appliance called a ‘Thumbograph,’ 
or some such name, consisting of a small book of 
blank paper for collecting the thumb-prints of one’s 
friends, together with an inking pad.” 

“I have seen those devices of the Evil One,” said 
Thorndyke, “in fact, I have one, which I bought at 
Charing Cross Station.” 

“Well, it seems that some months ago Mrs. 
Hornby, the wife of John Hornby, purchased one 
of these toys-” 

“As a matter of fact,” interrupted Reuben, “it 
was my cousin Walter who bought the thing and 
gave it to her.” 

“Well, that is not material,” said Mr. Lawley 



THE SUSPECT 


17 


(though I observed that Thorndyke made a note of 
the fact in his book) ; “at any rate, Mrs. Hornby 
became possessed of one of these appliances and 
proceeded to fill it with the thumb-prints of her 
friends, including her two nephews. Now it hap¬ 
pened that the detective in charge of this case called 
yesterday at Mr. Hornby’s house when the latter 
was absent from home, and took the opportunity of 
urging her to induce her husband to consent to have 
the thumb-prints of her nephews taken for the in¬ 
spection of the experts at Scotland Yard. He 
pointed out that the procedure was really necessary, 
not only in the interests of justice but in the interests 
of the young men themselves, who were regarded 
with considerable suspicion by the police, which 
suspicion would be completely removed if it could 
be shown by actual comparison that the thumb-print 
could not have been made by either of them. More¬ 
over, it seemed that both the young men had ex¬ 
pressed their willingness to have the test applied, 
but had been forbidden by their uncle. Then Mrs. 
Hornby had a brilliant idea. She suddenly remem¬ 
bered the ‘Thumbograph,’ and thinking to set the 
question at rest once for all, fetched the little book 
and showed it to the detective. It contained the 
prints of both thumbs of Mr. Reuben (among 
others), and, as the detective had with him a photo¬ 
graph of the incriminating mark, the comparison 
was made then and there; and you may imagine Mrs. 
Hornby’s horror and amazement when it was made 


18 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


clear that the print of her nephew Reuben’s left 
thumb corresponded in every particular with the 
thumb-print that was found in the safe. 

“At this juncture Mr. Hornby arrived on the 
scene and was, of course, overwhelmed with con¬ 
sternation at the turn events had taken. He would 
have liked to let the matter drop and make good 
the loss of the diamonds out of his own funds, but, 
as that would have amounted practically to com¬ 
pounding a felony, he had no choice but to prosecute. 
As a result, a warrant was issued for the arrest of 
Mr. Reuben, and was executed this morning, and 
my client was taken forthwith to Bow Street and 
charged with the robbery.” 

“Was any evidence taken?” asked Thorndyke. 

“No. Only evidence of arrest. The prisoner is 
remanded for a week, bail having been accepted in 
two sureties of five hundred pounds each.” 

Thorndyke was silent for a space after the con¬ 
clusion of the narrative. Like me, he was evidently 
not agreeably impressed by the lawyer’s manner, 
which seemed to take his client’s guilt for granted, 
a position indeed not entirely without excuse having 
regard to the circumstances of the case. 

“What have you advised your client to do?” 
Thorndyke asked presently. 

“I have recommended him to plead guilty and 
throw himself on the clemency of the court as a first 
offender. You must see for yourself that there is 
no defense possible.” 


THE SUSPECT 19 

The young man flushed crimson, but made no 
remark. 

“But let us be clear how we stand,” said Thorn- 
dyke. “Are we defending an innocent man or are 
we endeavouring to obtain a light sentence for a 
man who admits that he is guilty?” 

Mr. Lawley shrugged his shoulders. 

“That question can be best answered by our client 
himself,” said he. 

Thorndyke directed an inquiring glance at Reuben 
Hornby, remarking— 

“You are not called upon to incriminate yourself 
in any way, Mr. Hornby, but I must know what 
position you intend to adopt.” 

Here I again proposed to withdraw, but Reuben 
interrupted me, 

“There is no need for you to go away, Dr. 
Jervis,” he said. “My position is that I did not 
commit this robbery and that I know nothing what¬ 
ever about it or about the thumb-print that was 
found in the safe. I do not, of course, expect you 
to believe me in the face of the overwhelming evi¬ 
dence against me, but I do, nevertheless, declare in 
the most solemn manner before God, that I am ab¬ 
solutely innocent of this crime and have no knowl¬ 
edge of it whatever.” 

“Then I take it that you did not plead ‘guilty’ ? ” 
said Thorndyke. 

“Certainly not; and I never will,” replied Reuben 
hotly. 


20 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“You would not be the first innocent man, by 
very many, who has entered that plea,” remarked 
Mr. Lawley. “It is often the best policy, when the 
defence is hopelessly weak.” 

“It is a policy that will not be adopted by me,” 
rejoined Reuben. “I may be, and probably shall 
be, convicted and sentenced, but I shall continue 
to maintain my innocence, whatever happens. Do 
you think,” he added, turning to Thorndyke, “that 
you can undertake my defence on that assumption?” 

“It is the only assumption on which I should 
agree to undertake the case,” replied Thorndyke. 

“And—if I may ask the question—” pursued 
Reuben anxiously, “do you find it possible to con¬ 
ceive that I may really be innocent?” 

“Certainly I do,” Thorndyke replied, on which I 
observed Mr. Lawley’s eyebrows rise perceptibly. 
“I am a man of facts, not an advocate, and if I 
found it impossible to entertain the hypothesis of 
your innocence, I should not be willing to expend 
time and energy in searching for evidence to prove 
it. Nevertheless,” he continued, seeing the light of 
hope break out on the face of the unfortunate young 
man, “I must impress upon you that the case presents 
enormous difficulties and that we must be prepared 
to find them insuperable in spite of all our efforts.” 

“I expect nothing but a conviction,” replied Reu¬ 
ben in a calm and resolute voice, “and can face it 
like a man if only you do not take my guilt for 


THE SUSPECT 21 

granted, but give me a chance, no matter how small, 
of making a defence.” 

“Everything shall be done that I am capable of 
doing,” said Thorndyke; “that I can promise you. 
The long odds against us are themselves a spur to 
endeavour, as far as I am concerned. And now, let 
me ask you, have you any cuts or scratches on your 
fingers?” 

Reuben Hornby held out both his hands for my 
colleague’s inspection, and I noticed that they were 
powerful and shapely, like the hands of a skilled 
craftsman, though faultlessly kept. Thorndyke set 
on the table a large condenser such as is used for 
microscopic work, and taking his client’s hand, 
brought the bright spot of light to bear on each 
finger in succession, examining their tips and the 
parts around the nails with the aid of a pocket lens. 

“A fine, capable hand, this,” said he, regarding 
the member approvingly, as he finished his examina¬ 
tion, “but I don’t perceive any trace of a scar on 
either the right or left. Will you go over them, 
Jervis? The robbery took place a fortnight ago, so 
there has been time for a small cut or scratch to heal 
and disappear entirely. Still, the matter is worth 
noting.” 

He handed me the lens and I scrutinised every 
part of each hand without being able to detect the 
faintest trace of any recent wound. 

“There is one other matter that must be attended 
to before you go,” said Thorndyke, pressing the 


22 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


electric bell-push by his chair. “I will take one or 
two prints of the left thumb for my own informa¬ 
tion.” 

In response to the summons, Polton made his ap¬ 
pearance from some lair unknown to me, but pre¬ 
sumably the laboratory, and, having received his 
instructions, retired, and presently returned carrying 
a box, which he laid on the table. From this re¬ 
ceptacle Thorndyke drew forth a bright copper plate 
mounted on a slab of hard wood, a small printer’s 
roller, a tube of finger-print ink, and a number of 
cards with very white and rather glazed surfaces. 

“Now, Mr. Hornby,” said he, “your hands, I see, 
are beyond criticism as to cleanliness, but we will, 
nevertheless, give the thumb a final polish.” 

Accordingly he proceeded to brush the bulb of 
the thumb with a well-soaked badger-hair nail-brush, 
and, having rinsed it in water, dried it with a silk 
handkerchief, and gave it a final rub on a piece of 
chamois leather. The thumb having been thus pre¬ 
pared, he squeezed out a drop of the thick ink on 
to the copper plate and spread it out with the roller, 
testing the condition of the film from time to time 
by touching the plate with the tip of his finger and 
taking an impression on one of the cards. 

When the ink had been rolled out to the requisite 
thinness, he took Reuben’s hand and pressed the 
thumb lightly but firmly on to the inked plate; 
then, transferring the thumb to one of the cards, 
which he directed me to hold steady on the table, 


THE SUSPECT 


23 


he repeated the pressure, when there was left on the 
card a beautifully sharp and clear impression of the 
bulb of the thumb, the tiny papillary ridges being 
shown with microscopic distinctness, and even the 
mouths of the sweat glands, which appeared as rows 
of little white dots on the black lines of the ridges. 
This manoeuvre was repeated a dozen times on two 
of the cards, each of which thus received six impres¬ 
sions. Thorndyke then took one or two rolled 
prints, i.e. prints produced by rolling the thumb first 
on the inked slab and then on the card, by which 
means a much larger portion of the surface of the 
thumb was displayed in a single print. 

“And now,” said Thorndyke, “that we may be 
furnished with all the necessary means of compari¬ 
son, we will take an impression in blood.” 

The thumb was accordingly cleansed and dried 
afresh, when Thorndyke, having pricked his own 
thumb with a needle, squeezed out a good-sized 
drop of blood on to a card. 

“There,” said he, with a smile, as he spread the 
drop out with the needle into a little shallow pool, 
“it is not every lawyer who is willing to shed his 
blood in the interests of his client.” 

He proceeded to make a dozen prints as before on 
two cards, writing a number with his pencil opposite 
each print as he made it. 

“We are now,” said he, as he finally cleansed his 
client’s thumb, “furnished with the material for a 
preliminary investigation, and if you will now give 


24 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


me your address, Mr. Hornby, we may consider our 
business concluded for the present. I must apol¬ 
ogise to you, Mr. Lawley, for having detained you 
so long with these experiments.” 

The lawyer had, in fact, been viewing the pro¬ 
ceedings with hardly concealed impatience, and he 
now rose with evident relief that they were at an 
end. 

“I have been highly interested,” he said mendaci¬ 
ously, “though I confess I do not quite fathom your 
intentions. And, by the way, I should like to have 
a few words with you on another matter, if Mr. 
Reuben would not mind waiting for me in the square 
just a few minutes.” 

“Not at all,” said Reuben, who was, I perceived, 
in no way deceived by the lawyer’s pretence. “Don’t 
hurry on my account; my time is my own—at pre¬ 
sent.” He held out his hand to Thorndyke, who 
grasped it cordially. 

“Good-bye, Mr. Hornby,” said the latter. “Do 
not be unreasonably sanguine, but at the same time, 
do not lose heart. Keep your wits about you and 
let me know at once if anything occurs to you that 
may have a bearing on the case.” 

The young man then took his leave, and, as the 
door closed after him, Mr. Lawley turned towards 
Thorndyke. 

“I thought I had better have a word with you 
alone,” he said, “just to hear what line you propose 


THE SUSPECT 25 

to take up, for I confess that your attitude has 
puzzled me completely.” 

“What line would you propose?” asked Thorn- 
dyke. 

“Well,” said the lawyer, with a shrug of his 
shoulders, “the position seems to be this: our young 
friend has stolen a parcel of diamonds and has been 
found out; at least, that is how the matter presents 
itself to me.” 

“That is not how it presents itself to me,” said 
Thorndyke drily. “He may have taken the dia¬ 
monds or he may not. I have no means of judging 
until I have sifted the evidence and acquired a few 
more facts. This I hope to do in the course of the 
next day or two, and I suggest that we postpone the 
consideration of our plan of campaign until I have 
seen what line of defence it is possible to adopt.” 

“As you will,” replied the lawyer, taking up his 
hat, “but I am afraid you are encouraging the young 
rogue to entertain hopes that will only make his fall 
the harder—to say nothing of our own position. 
We don’t want to make ourselves ridiculous in court, 
you know.” 

“I don’t, certainly,” agreed Thorndyke. “How¬ 
ever, I will look into the matter and communicate 
with you in the course of a day or two.” 

He stood holding the door open as the lawyer 
descended the stairs, and when the footsteps at 
length died away, he closed it sharply and turned to 
me with an air of annoyance. 


26 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“The ‘young rogue/ ” he remarked, “does not 
appear to me to have been very happy in his choice 
of a solicitor. By the way, Jervis, I understand you 
are out of employment just now?” 

“That is so,” I answered. 

“Would you care to help me—as a matter of 
business, of course—to work up this case? I have 
a lot of other work on hand and your assistance 
would be of great value to me.” 

I said, with great truth that I should be delighted. 

“Then,” said Thorndyke, “come round to break¬ 
fast to-morrow and we will settle the terms, and you 
can commence your duties at once. And now let us 
light our pipes and finish our yarns as though agi¬ 
tated clients and thick-headed solicitors had no 
existence.” 


CHAPTER III 

A LADY IN THE CASE 

W HEN I arrived at Thorndyke’s chambers 
on the following morning, I found my 
friend already hard at work. Breakfast 
was laid at one end of the table, while at the other 
stood a microscope of the pattern used for examin¬ 
ing plate-cultures of micro-organisms, on the wide 
stage of which was one of the cards bearing six 
thumb-prints in blood. A condenser threw a bright 
spot of light on the card, which Thorndyke had been 
examining when I knocked, as I gathered from the 
position of the chair, which he now pushed back 
against the wall. 

“I see you have commenced work on our prob¬ 
lem,” I remarked as, in response to a double ring 
of the electric bell, Polton entered with the materi¬ 
als for our repast. 

“Yes,” answered Thorndyke. “I have opened 
the campaign, supported, as usual, by my trusty 
chief-of-staff; eh! Polton?” 

The little man, whose intellectual, refined coun- 
27 


28 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


tenance and dignified bearing seemed oddly out of 
character with the tea-tray that he carried, smiled 
proudly, and, with a glance of affectionate admira¬ 
tion at my friend, replied— 

“Yes, sir. We haven’t been letting the grass grow 
under our feet. There’s a beautiful negative wash¬ 
ing upstairs and a bromide enlargement too, which 
will be mounted and dried by the time you have 
finished your breakfast.” 

“A wonderful man that, Jervis,” my friend ob¬ 
served as his assistant retired. “Looks like a rural 
dean or a chancery judge, and was obviously in¬ 
tended by Nature to be a professor of physics. As 
an actual fact he was first a watchmaker, then a 
maker of optical instruments, and now he is mechani¬ 
cal factotum to a medical jurist. He is my right- 
hand, is Polton; takes an idea before you have time 
to utter it—but you will make his more intimate 
acquaintance by-and-by.” 

“Where did you pick him up?” I asked. 

“He was an in-patient at the hospital when I first 
met him, miserably ill and broken, a victim of pov¬ 
erty and undeserved misfortune. I gave him one 
or two little jobs, and when I found what class of 
man he was I took him permanently into my service. 
He is perfectly devoted to me, and his gratitude is 
as boundless as it is uncalled for.” 

“What are the photographs he was referring to?” 
I asked. 

“He is making an enlarged facsimile of one of the 


A LADY IN THE CASE 


29 


thumb-prints on bromide paper and a negative of 
the same size in case we want the print repeated.” 

“You evidently have some expectation of being 
able to help poor Hornby,” said I, “though I cannot 
imagine how you propose to go to work. To me his 
case seems as hopeless a one as it is possible to con¬ 
ceive. One doesn’t like to condemn him, but yet his 
innocence seems almost unthinkable.” 

“It does certainly look like a hopeless case,” 
Thorndyke agreed, “and I see no way out of it at 
present. But I make it a rule, in all cases, to proceed 
on the strictly classical lines of inductive inquiry— 
collect facts, make hypotheses, test them and seek 
for verification. And I always endeavour to keep 
a perfectly open mind. 

“Now, in the present case, assuming, as we must 
that the robbery has actually taken place, there are 
four conceivable hypotheses: (1) that the robbery 
was committed by Reuben Hornby; (2) that it was 
committed by Walter Hornby; (3) that it was com¬ 
mitted by John Hornby, or (4) that it was com¬ 
mitted by some other person or persons. 

“The last hypothesis I propose to disregard for 
the present and confine myself to the examination of 
the other three.” 

“You don’t think it possible that Mr. Hornby 
could have stolen the diamonds out of his own 
safe?” I exclaimed. 

“I incline at present to no one theory of the 
matter,” replied Thorndyke. “I merely state the 


30 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


hypotheses. John Hornby had access to the dia¬ 
monds, therefore it is possible that he stole them.” 

“But surely he was responsible to the owners.” 

“Not in the absence of gross negligence, which the 
owners would have difficulty in proving. You see, 
he was what is called a gratuitous bailee, and in such 
a case no responsibility for loss lies with the bailee 
unless there has been gross negligence.” 

“But the thumb-mark, my dear fellow I” I ex¬ 
claimed. “How can you possibly get over that?” 

“I don’t know that I can,” answered Thorndyke 
calmly; “but I see you are taking the same view as 
the police, who persist in regarding a finger-print 
as a kind of magical touchstone, a final proof, beyond 
which inquiry need not go. Now, this is an entire 
mistake. A finger-print is merely a fact—a very 
important and significant one, I admit—but still a 
fact, which, like any other fact, requires to be 
weighed and measured with reference to its eviden¬ 
tial value.” 

“And what do you propose to do first?” 

“I shall first satisfy myself that the suspected 
thumb-print is identical in character with that of 
Reuben Hornby—of which, however, I have very 
little doubt, for the finger-print experts may fairly 
be trusted in their own speciality.” 

“And then?” 

“I shall collect fresh facts, in which I look to you 
for assistance, and, if we have finished breakfast, I 
may as well induct you into your new duties.” 


A LADY IN THE CASE 


31 


He rose and rang the bell, and then, fetching from 
the office four small, paper-covered notebooks, laid 
them before me on the table. 

“One of these books,” said he, “we will devote 
to data concerning Reuben Hornby. You will find 
out anything you can—anything, mind, no matter 
how trivial or apparently irrelevant—in any way 
connected with him and enter it in this book.” He 
wrote on the cover “Reuben Hornby” and passed 
the book to me. “In this second book you will, 
in like manner, enter anything that you can learn 
about Walter Hornby, and in the third book, data 
concerning John Hornby. As to the fourth book, 
you will keep that for stray facts connected with 
the case but not coming under either of the other 
headings. And now let us look at the product of 
Polton’s industry.” 

He took from his assistant’s hand a photograph 
ten inches long by eight broad, done on glazed, 
bromide paper and mounted flatly on stiff card. It 
showed a greatly magnified facsimile of one of the 
thumb-prints, in which all the minute details, such 
as the orifices of the sweat glands and trifling irregu¬ 
larities in the ridges, which, in the original, could be 
seen only with the aid of a lens, were plainly visible 
to the naked eye. Moreover, the entire print was 
covered by a network of fine black lines, by which 
it was divided into a multitude of small squares, each 
square being distinguished by a number. 

“Excellent, Polton,” said Thorndyke approving- 


32 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


ly; “a most admirable enlargement. You see, Jervis, 
we have photographed the thumb-print in contact 
with a numbered micrometer divided into square 
twelfths of an inch. The magnification is eight 
diameters, so that the squares are here each two- 
thirds of an inch in diameter. I have a number of 
these micrometers of different scales, and I find them 
invaluable in examining cheques, doubtful signatures 
and such like. I see you have packed up the camera 
and the microscope, Polton; have you put in the 
micrometer?” 

“Yes, sir,” replied Polton, “and the six-inch ob¬ 
jective and the low-power eye-piece. Everything 
is in the case; and I have put ‘special rapid’ plates 
into the dark-slides in case the light should be bad.” 

“Then we will go forth and beard the Scotland 
Yard lions in their den,” said Thorndyke, putting 
on his hat and gloves. 

“But surely,” said I, “you are not going to drag 
that great microscope to Scotland Yard, when you 
only want eight diameters. Haven’t you a dissect¬ 
ing microscope or some other portable instrument?” 

“We have a most delightful instrument of the 
dissecting type, of Polton’s own make—he shall 
show it to you. But I may have need of a more 
powerful instrument—and here let me give you a 
word of warning: whatever you may see me do, 
make no comments before the officials. We are 
seeking information, not giving it, you understand.” 

At this moment the little brass knocker on the 


A LADY IN THE CASE 33 

inner door—the outer oak being open—uttered a 
timid and apologetic rat-tat. 

“Who the deuce can that be?” muttered Thorn- 
dyke, replacing the microscope on the table. He 
strode across to the door and opened it somewhat 
brusquely, but immediately whisked his hat off, and 
I then perceived a lady standing on the threshold. 

“Dr. Thorndyke?” she inquired, and as my 
colleague bowed, she continued, “ I ought to have 
written to ask for an appointment but the matter 
is rather urgent—it concerns Mr. Reuben Hornby— 
and I only learned from him this morning that he 
had consulted you.” 

“Pray come in,” said Thorndyke. “Dr. Jervis 
and I were just setting out for Scotland Yard on this 
very business. Let me present you to my colleague, 
who is working up the case with me.” 

Our visitor, a tall handsome girl of twenty or 
thereabouts, returned my bow and remarked with 
perfect self-possession, “My name is Gibson—Miss 
Juliet Gibson. My business is of a very simple 
character and need not detain you many minutes.” 

She seated herself in the chair that Thorndyke 
placed for her, and continued in a brisk and business¬ 
like manner— 

“I must tell you who I am in order to explain my 
visit to you. For the last six years I have lived with 
Mr. and Mrs. Hornby, although I am no relation to 
them. I first came to the house as a sort of com¬ 
panion to Mrs. Hornby, though, as I was only fifteen 


34 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


at the time, I need hardly say that my duties were 
not very onerous; in fact, I think Mrs. Hornby took 
me because I was an orphan without the proper 
means of getting a livelihood, and she had no 
children of her own. 

“Three years ago I came into a little fortune 
which rendered me independent; but I had been so 
happy with my kind friends that I asked to be 
allowed to remain with them, and there I have been 
ever since in the position of an adopted daughter. 
Naturally, I have seen a great deal of their nephews, 
who spend a good part of their time at the house, 
and I need not tell you that the horrible charge 
against Reuben has fallen upon us like a thunderbolt. 
Now, what I have come to say to you is this: I do 
not believe that Reuben stole those diamonds. It is 
entirely out of character with all my previous ex¬ 
perience of him. I am convinced that he is innocent, 
and I am prepared to back my opinion.” 

“In what way?” asked Thorndyke. 

“By supplying the sinews of war,” replied Miss 
Gibson. “I understand that legal advice and as¬ 
sistance involves considerable expense.” 

“I am afraid you are quite correctly informed,” 
said Thorndyke. 

“Well, Reuben’s pecuniary resources are, I am 
sure, quite small, so it is necessary for his friends to 
support him, and I want you to promise me that 
nothing shall be left undone that might help to 
prove his innocence if I make myself responsible 


A LADY IN THE CASE 


35 


for any costs that he is unable to meet. I should pre¬ 
fer, of course, not to appear in the matter, if it could 
be avoided.” 

“Your friendship is of an eminently practical 
kind, Miss Gibson,” said my colleague, with a smile. 
“As a matter of fact, the costs are no affair of mine. 
If the occasion arose for the exercise of your gen¬ 
erosity you would have to approach Mr. Reuben’s 
solicitor through the medium of your guardian, Mr. 
Hornby, and with the consent of the accused. But 
I do not suppose the occasion will arise, although I 
am very glad you called, as you may be able to give 
us valuable assistance in other ways. For example, 
you might answer one or two apparently impertinent 
questions.” 

“I should not consider any question impertinent 
that you considered necessary to ask,” our visitor 
replied. 

“Then,” said Thorndyke, “I will venture to in¬ 
quire if any special relations exist between you and 
Mr. Reuben.” 

“You look for the inevitable motive in a woman,” 
said Miss Gibson, laughing and flushing a little. 
“No, there have been no tender passages between 
Reuben and me. We are merely old and intimate 
friends; in fact, there is what I may call a tendency 
in another direction—Walter Hornby.” 

“Do you mean that you are engaged to Mr. 
Walter?” 

“Oh, no,” she replied; “but he has asked me to 


36 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


marry him—he has asked me, in fact more than 
once; and I really believe that he has a sincere at¬ 
tachment to me.” 

She made this latter statement with an odd air, 
as though the thing asserted were curious and rather 
incredible, and the tone was evidently noticed by 
Thorndyke as well as me for he rejoined— 

“Of course he has. Why not?” 

“Well, you see,” replied Miss Gibson, “I have 
some six hundred a year of my own and should not 
be considered a bad match for a young man like 
Walter, who has neither property nor expectations, 
and one naturally takes that into account. But still, 
as I have said, I believe he is quite sincere in his 
professions and not merely attracted by my money.” 

“I do not find your opinion at all incredible,” said 
Thorndyke, with a smile, “even if Mr. Walter were 
quite a mercenary young man—which, I take it, he 
is not.” 

Miss Gibson flushed very prettily as she replied— 

“Oh, pray do not trouble to pay me compliments; 
I assure you I am by no means insensible of my 
merits. But with regard to Walter Hornby, I 
should be sorry to apply the term ‘mercenary’ to 
him, and yet—well, I have never met a young man 
who showed a stronger appreciation of the value 
of money. He means to succeed in life and I have 
no doubt he will.” 

“And do I understand that you refused him?” 

“Yes. My feelings towards him are quite friend- 


A LADY IN THE CASE 37 

ly but not of such a nature as to allow me to contem¬ 
plate marrying him.” 

“And now, to return for a moment to Mr. Reu¬ 
ben. You have known him for some years?” 

“I have known him intimately for six years,” re¬ 
plied Miss Gibson. 

“And what sort of character do you give him?” 

“Speaking from my own observation of him,” 
she replied, “I can say that I have never known him 
to tell an untruth or do a dishonorable deed. As 
to theft, it is merely ridiculous. His habits have 
always been inexpensive and frugal, he is unambiti¬ 
ous to a fault, and in respect to the ‘main chance’ 
his indifference is as conspicuous as Walter’s keen¬ 
ness. He is a generous man, too, although careful 
and industrious.” 

“Thank you, Miss Gibson,” said Thorndyke. 
“We shall apply to you for further information as 
the case progresses. I am sure that you will help 
us if you can, and that you can help us if you will, 
with your clear head and your admirable frankness. 
If you will leave us your card, Dr. Jervis and I will 
keep you informed of our prospects and ask for your 
assistance whenever we need it.” 

After our visitor had departed, Thorndyke stood 
for a minute or more gazing dreamily into the fire. 
Then, with a quick glance at his watch, he resumed 
his hat and, catching up the microscope, handed the 
camera case to me and made for the door. 

“How the time goes!” he exclaimed, as we de- 


38 THE RED THUMB MARK 

scended the stairs; “but it hasn’t been wasted, Jervis, 
hey?” 

“No, I suppose not,” I answered tentatively. 

“You suppose not!” he replied. “Why here is 
as pretty a little problem as you could desire—what 
would be called in the jargon of the novels, a psycho¬ 
logical problem—and it is your business to work it 
out, too.” 

“You mean as to Miss Gibson’s relations with 
these two young men?” 

Thorndyke nodded. 

“Is it any concern of ours?” I asked. 

“Certainly it is,” he replied. “Everything is a 
concern of ours at this preliminary stage. We are 
groping about for a clue and must let nothing pass 
unscrutinised.” 

“Well, then, to begin with, she is not wildly 
infatuated with Walter Hornby, I should say.” 

“No,” agreed Thorndyke, laughing softly; “We 
may take it that the canny Walter has not inspired 
a grand passion.” 

“Then,” I resumed, “if I were a suitor for Miss 
Gibson’s hand, I think I would sooner stand in Reu¬ 
ben’s shoes than in Walter’s.” 

“There again I am with you,” said Thorndyke. 
“Go on.” 

“Well,” I continued, “our fair visitor conveyed 
to me the impression that her evident admiration 
of Reuben’s character was tempered by something 
that she had heard from a third party. That expres- 


A LADY IN THE CASE 


39 


sion of hers, ‘speaking from my own observation,’ 
seemed to imply that her observations of him were 
not in entire agreement with somebody else’s.” 

“Good man!” exclaimed Thorndyke, slapping 
me on the back, to the undissembled surprise of a 
policeman whom we were passing; “that is what I 
had hoped for in you—the capacity to perceive the 
essential underneath the obvious. Yes; somebody 
has been saying something about our client, and the 
thing that we have to find out is, what is it that 
has been said and who has been saying it. We shall 
have to make a pretext for another interview with 
Miss Gibson.” 

“By the way, why didn’t you ask her what she 
meant?” I asked foolishly. 

Thorndyke grinned in my face. “Why didn’t 
you?” he retorted. 

“No,” I rejoined, “I suppose it is not politic to 
appear too discerning. Let me carry the microscope 
for a time; it is making your arm ache, I see.” 

“Thanks,” said he, handing the case to me and 
rubbing his fingers; “it is rather ponderous.” 

“I can’t make out what you want with this great 
instrument,” I said. “A common pocket lens would 
do all that you require. Besides, a six-inch ob¬ 
jective will not magnify more than two or three 
diameters.” 

“Two, with the draw-tube closed,” replied Thorn¬ 
dyke, “and the low-power eye-piece brings it up to 
four. Polton made them both for me for examining 


40 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


cheques, bank-notes and other large objects. But 
you will understand when you see me use the instru¬ 
ment, and remember, you are to make no com¬ 
ments.” 

We had by this time arrived at the entrance to 
Scotland Yard, and were passing up the narrow 
thoroughfare, when we encountered a uniformed 
official who halted and saluted my colleague. 

“Ah, I thought we should see you here before 
long, doctor,” said he genially. “I heard this morn¬ 
ing that you have this thumb-print case in hand.” 

“Yes,” replied Thorndyke; “I am going to see 
what can be done for the defence.” 

“Well,” said the officer as he ushered us into the 
building, “you’ve given us a good many surprises, 
but you’ll give us a bigger one if you can make any¬ 
thing of this. It’s a foregone conclusion, I should 
say.” 

“My dear fellow,” said Thorndyke, “there is no 
such thing. You mean that there is a prima facie 
case against the accused.” 

“Put it that way if you like,” replied the officer, 
with a sly smile, “but I think you will find this about 
the hardest nut you ever tried your teeth on—and 
they’re pretty strong teeth too, I’ll say that. You 
had better come into Mr. Singleton’s office,” and 
he conducted us along a corridor and into a large, 
barely-furnished room, where we found a sedate- 
looking gentleman seated at a large writing table. 

“How-d’ye-do, doctor?” said the latter, rising 


A LADY IN THE CASE 


41 


and holding out his hand. “I can guess what you’ve 
come for. Want to see that thumb-print, eh?” 

“Quite right,” answered Thorndyke, and then, 
having introduced me, he continued: “We were 
partners in the last game, but we are on opposite 
sides of the board this time.” 

“Yes,” agreed Mr. Singleton; “and we are going 
to give you check-mate.” 

He unlocked a drawer and drew forth a small 
portfolio, from which he extracted a piece of paper 
which he laid on the table. It appeared to be a 
sheet torn from a perforated memorandum block, 
and bore the penciled inscription: “Handed in by 
Reuben at 7.3 p.m., 9.3.01. J. H.” At one end 
was a dark, glossy blood-stain, made by the falling 
of a good-sized drop, and this was smeared slightly, 
apparently by a finger or thumb having been pressed 
on it. Near to it were two or three smaller smears 
and a remarkably distinct and clean print of a 
thumb. 

Thorndyke gazed intently at the paper for a 
minute or two, scrutinising the thumb-print and the 
smears in turn, but making no remark, while Mr. 
Singleton watched his impassive face with expectant 
curiosity. 

“Not much difficulty in identifying that mark,” 
the official at length observed. 

“No,” agreed Thorndyke; “it is an excellent im¬ 
pression and a very distinctive pattern, even without 
the scar.” 


42 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“Yes,” rejoined Mr. Singleton; “the scar makes 
it absolutely conclusive. You have a print with you, 
I suppose?” 

“Yes,” replied Thorndyke, and he drew from a 
wide flap-pocket the enlarged photograph, at the 
sight of which Mr. Singleton’s face broadened into 
a smile. 

“You don’t want to put on spectacles to look at 
that,” he remarked; “not that you gain anything 
by so much enlargement; three diameters is ample 
for studying the ridge-patterns. I see you have 
divided it up into numbered squares—not a bad 
plan; but ours—or rather Galton’s, for we borrowed 
the method from him—is better for this purpose.” 

He drew from the portfolio a half-plate photo¬ 
graph of the thumb-print which appeared magnified 
to about four inches in length. The print was 
marked by a number of figures written minutely with 
a fine-pointed pen, each figure being placed on an 
“island,” a loop, a bifurcation or some other strik¬ 
ing and characteristic portion of the ridge-pattern. 

“This system of marking with reference num¬ 
bers,” said Mr. Singleton, “is better than your 
method of squares, because the numbers are only 
placed at points which are important for comparison, 
whereas your squares or the intersections of the lines 
fall arbitrarily on important or unimportant points 
according to chance. Besides, we can’t let you mark 
our original, you know, though, of course, we can 
give you a photograph, which will do as well.” 


A LADY IN THE CASE 


43 


“I was going to ask you to let me take a photo¬ 
graph presently,” said Thorndyke. 

“Certainly,” replied Mr. Singleton, “if you would 
rather have one of your own taking. I know you 
don’t care to take anything on trust. And now I 
must get on with my work, if you will excuse me. 
Inspector Johnson will give you any assistance you 
may require.” 

“And see that I don’t pocket the original,” added 
Thorndyke, with a smile at the inspector who had 
shown us in. 

“Oh, I’ll see to that,” said the latter, grinning; 
and, as Mr. Singleton returned to his table, Thorn¬ 
dyke unlocked the microscope case and drew forth 
the instrument. 

“What, are you going to put it under the micro¬ 
scope?” exclaimed Mr. Singleton, looking round 
with a broad smile. 

“Must do something for my fee, you know,” re¬ 
plied Thorndyke, as he set up the microscope and 
screwed on two extra objectives to the triple nose- 
piece. 

“You observe that there is no deception,” he 
added to the inspector, as he took the paper from 
Mr. Singleton’s table and placed it between two 
slips of glass. 

“I’m watching you, sir,” replied the officer, with 
a chuckle; and he did watch, with close attention and 
great interest, while Thorndyke laid the glass slips 
on the microscope stage and proceeded to focus. 


44 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


I also watched, and was a good deal exercised in 
my mind by my colleague’s proceedings. After d. 
preliminary glance with the six-inch glass, he swung 
round the nose-piece to the half-inch objective and 
slipped in a more powerful eye-piece, and with this 
power he examined the blood-stains carefully, and 
then moved the thumb-print into the field of vision. 
After looking at this for some time with deep atten¬ 
tion, he drew from the case a tiny spirit lamp which 
was evidently filled with an alcoholic solution of 
some sodium salt, for when he lit it I recognised the 
characteristic yellow sodium flame. Then he re¬ 
placed one of the objectives by a spectroscopic at¬ 
tachment, and having placed the little lamp close to 
the microscope mirror, adjusted the spectroscope. 
Evidently my friend was fixing the position of the 
“D” line (or sodium line) in the spectrum. 

Having completed the adjustments, he now ex¬ 
amined afresh the blood-smears and the thumb¬ 
print, both by transmitted and reflected light, and I 
observed him hurriedly draw one or two diagrams in 
his note-book. Then he replaced the spectroscope 
and lamp in the case and brought forth the mi¬ 
crometer—a slip of rather thin glass about three 
inches by one and a half—which he laid over the 
thumb-print in the place of the upper plate of glass. 

Having secured it in position by the clips, he 
moved it about, comparing its appearance with that 
of the lines on the large photograph, which he held 
in his hand. After a considerable amount of adjust- 


A LADY IN THE CASE 45 

ment and readjustment, he appeared to be satisfied, 
for he remarked to me— 

“I think I have got the lines in the same position 
as they are on our print, so, with Inspector Johnson’s 
assistance, we will take a photograph which we can 
examine at our leisure.” 

He extracted the camera—a quarter-plate instru¬ 
ment—from its case and opened it. Then, having 
swung the microscope on its stand into a horizontal 
position, he produced from the camera case a slab 
of mahogany with three brass feet, on which he 
placed the camera, and which brought the latter to a 
level with the eye-piece of the microscope. 

The front of the camera was fitted with a short 
sleeve of thin black leather, and into this the eye¬ 
piece end of the microscope was now passed, the 
sleeve being secured round the barrel of the micro¬ 
scope by a stout indiarubber band, thus producing 
a completely light-tight connection. 

Everything was now ready for taking the photo¬ 
graph. The light from the window having been 
concentrated on the thumb-print by means of a 
condenser, Thorndyke proceeded to focus the image 
on the ground-glass screen with extreme care and 
then, slipping a small leather cap over the objective, 
introduced the dark slide and drew out the shutter. 

“I will ask you to sit down and remain quite still 
while I make the exposure,” he said to me and the 
inspector. “A very little vibration is enough to 
destroy the sharpness of the image.” 


46 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


We seated ourselves accordingly, and Thorndyke 
then removed the cap, standing motionless, watch in 
hand, while he exposed the first plate. 

“We may as well take a second, in case this should 
not turn out quite perfect,” he said, as he replaced 
the cap and closed the shutter. 

He reversed the dark slide and made another ex¬ 
posure in the same way, and then, having removed 
the micrometer and replaced it by a slip of plain 
glass, he made two more exposures. 

“There are two plates left,” he remarked, as he 
drew out the second dark slide. “I think I will take 
a record of the blood-stain on them.” 

He accordingly made two more exposures—one 
of the larger blood-stain and one of the smaller 
smears. 

“There,” said he, with an air of satisfaction, as he 
proceeded to pack up what the inspector described 
as his “box of tricks.” “I think we have all the data 
that we can squeeze out of Scotland Yard, and I am 
very much obliged to you, Mr. Singleton, for giving 
so many facilities to your natural enemy, the counsel 
for the defence.” 

“Not our natural enemies, doctor,” protested Mr. 
Singleton. “We work for a conviction, of course, 
but we don’t throw obstacles in the way of the de¬ 
fence. You know that perfectly well.” 

“Of course I do, my dear sir,” replied Thorndyke, 
shaking the official by the hand. “Haven’t I 


A LADY IN THE CASE 47 

benefited by your help a score of times? But I am 
greatly obliged all the same. Good-bye.” 

“Good-bye, doctor. I wish you luck, though I 
fear you will find it ‘no go’ this time.” 

“We shall see,” replied Thorndyke, and with 
a friendly wave of the hand to the inspector he 
caught up the two cases and led the way out of the 
building. 



V. 5f 


CHAPTER IV 

CONFIDENCES 

D URING our walk home my friend was un¬ 
usually thoughtful and silent, and his face 
bore a look of concentration under which I 
thought I could detect, in spite of his habitually im¬ 
passive expression, a certain suppressed excitement 
of a not entirely unpleasurable kind. I forbore, 
however, from making any remarks or asking ques¬ 
tions, not only because I saw that he was pre¬ 
occupied, but also because, from my knowledge of 
the man, I judged that he would consider it his duty 
to keep his own counsel and to make no unnecessary 
confidences even to me. 

On our arrival at his chambers he immediately 
handed over the camera to Polton with a few curt 
directions as to the development of the plates, and, 
lunch being already prepared, we sat down at the 
table without delay. 

We had proceeded with our meal in silence for 
some time when Thorndyke suddenly laid down his 
48 


CONFIDENCES 49 

knife and folk and looked into my face with a smile 
of quiet amusement. 

“It has just been borne in upon me, Jervis,” said 
he, “that you are the most companionable fellow 
in the world. You have the heaven-sent gift of 
silence.” 

“If silence is the test of companionability,” I 
answered, with a grin, “I think I can pay you a 
similar compliment in even more emphatic terms.” 

He laughed cheerfully and rejoined— 

“You are pleased to be sarcastic, I observe; but 
I maintain my position. The capacity to preserve 
an opportune silence is the rarest and most precious 
of social accomplishments. Now, most men would 
have plied me with questions and babbled comments 
on my proceedings at Scotland Yard, whereas you 
have allowed me to sort out, without interruption, 
a mass of evidence while it is still fresh and impres¬ 
sive, to docket each item and stow it away in the 
pigeon-holes of my brain. By the way, I have made 
a ridiculous oversight.” 

“What is that?” I asked. 

“The ‘Thumbograph.’ I never ascertained whether 
the police have it or whether it is still in the posses¬ 
sion of Mrs. Hornby.” 

“Does it matter?” I inquired. 

“Not much; only I must see it. And perhaps it 
will furnish an excellent pretext for you to call on 
Miss Gibson. As I am busy at the hospital this 
afternoon and Polton has his hands full, it would be 


50 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


a good plan for you to drop in at Endsley Gardens 
—that is the address, I think—and if you can see 
Miss Gibson, try to get a confidential chat with her, 
and extend your knowledge of the manners and 
customs of the three Messieurs Hornby. Put on 
your best bedside manner and keep your weather 
eye lifting. Find out everything you can as to the 
characters and habits of those three gentlemen, 
regardless of all scruples of delicacy. Everything 
is of importance to us, even to the names of their 
tailors.” 

“And with regard to the ‘Thumbograph’?” 

“Find out who has it, and, if it is still in Mrs. 
Hornby’s possession, get her to lend it to us or— 
what might, perhaps, be better—get her permission 
to take a photograph of it.” 

“It shall be done according to your word,” said 
I. “I will furbish up my exterior, and this very 
afternoon make my first appearance in the character 
of Paul Pry.” 

About an hour later I found myself upon the door¬ 
step of Mr. Hornby’s house in Endsley Gardens 
listening to the jangling of the bell that I had just 
set in motion. 

“Miss Gibson, sir?” repeated the parlourmaid 
in response to my question. “She was going out, 
but I am not sure whether she has gone yet. If you 
will step in, I will go and see.” 

I followed her into the drawing-room, and, 
threading my way amongst the litter of small tables 


CONFIDENCES 


51 


and miscellaneous furniture by which ladies now¬ 
adays convert their special domain into the sem¬ 
blance of a broker’s shop, let go my anchor in the 
vicinity of the fireplace to await the parlourmaid’s 
report. 

I had not long to wait, for in less than a minute 
Miss Gibson herself entered the room. She wore 
her hat and gloves, and I congratulated myself on 
my timely arrival. 

“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon, Dr. 
Jervis,” she said, holding out her hand with a frank 
and friendly manner, “but you are very welcome 
all the same. You have come to tell me some¬ 
thing?” 

“On the contrary,” I replied, “I have come to 
ask you something.” 

“Well, that is better than nothing,” she said, with 
a shade of disappointment. “Won’t you sit down?” 

I seated myself with caution on a dwarf chair of 
scrofulous aspect, and opened my business without 
preamble. 

“Do you remember a thing called a ‘Thumbo- 
graph’ ?” 

“Indeed I do,” she replied with energy. “It was 
the cause of all this trouble.” 

“Do you know if the police took possession of 
it?” 

“The detective took it to Scotland Yard that the 
finger-print experts might examine it and compare 
the two thumb-prints; and they wanted to keep it, 


52 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


but Mrs. Hornby was so distressed at the idea of its 
being used in evidence that they let her have it back. 
You see, they really had no further need of it, as 
they could take a print for themselves when they had 
Reuben in custody; in fact, he volunteered to have 
a print taken at once, as soon as he was arrested, and 
that was done.” 

“So the ‘Thumbograph’ is now in Mrs. Hornby’s 
possession?” 

“Yes, unless she has destroyed it. She spoke of 
doing so.” 

“I hope she has not,” said I, in some alarm, “for 
Dr. Thorndyke is extremely anxious, for some 
reason, to examine it.” 

“Well, she will be down in a few minutes, and 
then we shall know. I told her you were here. 
Have you any idea what Dr. Thorndyke’s reason is 
for wanting to see it?” 

“None whatever,” I replied. “Dr. Thorndyke is 
as close as an oyster. He treats me as he treats 
every one else—he listens attentively, observes 
closely, and says nothing.” 

“It doesn’t sound very agreeable,” mused Miss 
Gibson; “and yet he seemed very nice and sym¬ 
pathetic.” 

“He is very nice and sympathetic,” I retorted 
with some emphasis, “but he doesn’t make himself 
agreeable by divulging his clients’ secrets.” 

“I suppose not; and I regard myself as very ef- 


CONFIDENCES 


53 


fectively snubbed,” said she, smiling, but evidently 
somewhat piqued by my not very tactful observation. 

I was hastening to repair my error with apologies 
and self-accusations, when the door opened and an 
elderly lady entered the room. She was somewhat 
stout, amiable and placid of mien, and impressed me 
(to be entirely truthful) as looking rather foolish. 

“Here is Mrs. Hornby,” said Miss Gibson, pre¬ 
senting me to her hostess; and she continued, “Dr. 
Jervis has come to ask about the ‘Thumbograph.’ 
You haven’t destroyed it, I hope?” 

“No, my dear,” replied Mrs. Hornby. “I have 
it in my little bureau. What did Dr. Jervis wish 
to know about it?” 

Seeing that she was terrified lest some new and 
dreadful surprise should be sprung upon her, I 
hastened to reassure her. 

“My colleague, Dr. Thorndyke, is anxious to ex¬ 
amine it. He is directing your nephew’s defence, 
you know.” 

“Yes, yes,” said Mrs. Hornby. “Juliet told me 
about him. She says he is a dear. Do you agree 
with her?” 

Here I caught Miss Gibson’s eye, in which was a 
mischievous twinkle, and noted a little deeper pink 
in her cheeks. 

“Well,” I answered dubiously, “I have never con¬ 
sidered my colleague in the capacity of a dear, but 
I have a very high opinion of him in every respect.” 

“That, no doubt, is the masculine equivalent,” 


54 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


said Miss Gibson, recovering from the momentary 
embarrassment that Mrs. Hornby’s artless repeti¬ 
tion of her phrase had produced. “I think the 
feminine expression is more epigrammatic and com¬ 
prehensive. But to return to the object of Dr. 
Jervis’s visit. Would you let him have the ‘Thumbo- 
graph,’ aunt to show to Dr. Thorndyke?” 

“Oh, my dear Juliet,” replied Mrs. Hornby, “I 
would do anything—anything—to help our poor 
boy. I will never believe that he could be guilty 
of theft—common, vulgar theft. There has been 
some dreadful mistake—I am convinced there has 
—I told the detectives so. I assured them that 
Reuben could not have committed the robbery, and 
that they were totally mistaken in supposing him to 
be capable of such an action. But they would not 
listen to me, although I have known him since he 
was a little child, and ought to be able to judge, if 
anyone is. Diamonds, too! Now, I ask you, what 
could Reuben want with diamonds? and they were 
not even cut.” 

Here Mrs. Hornby drew forth a lace-edged hand¬ 
kerchief and mopped her eyes. 

“I am sure Dr. Thorndyke will be very much 
interested to see this little book of yours,” said I, 
with a view of stemming the tide of her reflections. 

“Oh, the ‘Thumbograph,’ ” she replied. “Yes, 
I will let him have it with the greatest pleasure. I 
am so glad he wishes to see it; it makes one feel hope¬ 
ful to know that he taking so much interest in the 


CONFIDENCES 


55 


case. Would you believe it, Dr. Jervis, those de¬ 
tective people actually wanted to keep it to bring up 
in evidence against the poor boy. My ‘Thumbo¬ 
graph,’ mind you. But I put my foot down there 
and they had to return it. I was resolved that they 
should not receive any assistance from me in their 
efforts to involve my nephew in this horrible affair.” 

“Then, perhaps,” said Miss Gibson, “you might 
give Dr. Jervis the ‘Thumbograph’ and he can hand 
it to Dr. Thorndyke.” 

“Of course I will,” said Mrs. Hornby; “instantly; 
and you need not return it, Dr. Jervis. When you 
have finished with it, fling it into the fire. I wish 
never to see it again.” 

But I had been considering the matter, and had 
come to the conclusion that it would be highly indis¬ 
creet to take the book out of Mrs. Hornby’s custody, 
and this I now proceeded to explain. 

“I have no idea,” I said, “for what purpose Dr. 
Thorndyke wishes to examine the ‘Thumbograph,’ 
but it occurs to me that he may desire to put it in 
evidence, in which case it would be better that it 
should not go out of your possession for the present. 
He merely commissioned me to ask for your permis¬ 
sion to take a photograph of it.” 

“Oh, if he wants a photograph,” said Mrs. Horn¬ 
by, “I could get one done for him without any diffi¬ 
culty. My nephew Walter would take one for us, I 
am sure, if I asked him. He is so clever, you know 
—is he not, Juliet, dear?” 


56 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“Yes, aunt,” replied Miss Gibson quickly, “but 
I expect Dr. Thorndyke would rather take the 
photograph himself.” 

“I am sure he would,” I agreed. “In fact, a 
photograph taken by another person would not be 
of much use to him.” 

“Ah,” said Mrs. Hornby in a slightly injured 
tone, “you think Walter is just an ordinary amateur; 
but if I were to show you some of the photographs 
he has taken you would really be surprised. He is 
remarkably clever, I assure you.” 

“Would you like us to bring the book to Dr. 
Thorndyke’s chambers?” asked Miss Gibson. “That 
would save time and trouble.” 

“It is excessively good of you-” I began. 

“Not at all. When shall we bring it? Would 
you like to have it this evening?” 

“We should very much,” I replied. “My col¬ 
league could then examine it and decide what is to 
be done with it. But it is giving you so much 
trouble.” 

“It is nothing of the kind,” said Miss Gibson. 
“You would not mind coming with me this evening, 
would you, aunt?” 

“Certainly not, my dear,” replied Mrs. Hornby, 
and she was about to enlarge on the subject when 
Miss Gibson rose and, looking at her watch, de¬ 
clared that she must start on her errand at once. I 
also rose to make my adieux, and she then re¬ 
marked— 



CONFIDENCES 


57 


“If you are walking in the same direction as I 
am, Dr. Jervis, we might arrange the time of our 
proposed visit as we go along.” 

I was not slow to avail myself of this invitation, 
and a few seconds later we left the house together, 
leaving Mrs. Hornby smiling fatuously after us 
from the open door. 

“Will eight o’clock suit you, do you think?” 

Miss Gibson asked, as we walked up the street. 

“It will do excellently, I should say,” I answered. 
“If anything should render the meeting impossible 
I will send you a telegram. I could wish that you 
were coming alone, as ours is to be a business confer¬ 
ence.” 

Miss Gibson laughed softly—and a very pleasant 
and musical laugh it was. 

“Yes,” she agreed. “Dear Mrs. Hornby is a 
little diffuse and difficult to keep to one subject; but 
you must be indulgent to her little failings; you 
would be if you had experienced such kindness and 
generosity from her as I have.” 

“I am sure I should,” I rejoined; “in fact, I am. 
After all, a little diffuseness of speech and haziness 
of ideas are no great faults in a generous and ami¬ 
able woman of her age.” 

Miss Gibson rewarded me for these highly cor¬ 
rect sentiments with a little smile of approval, and 
we walked on for some time in silence. Presently 
she turned to me with some suddenness and a very 
earnest expression, and said— 


58 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“I want to ask you a question, Dr. Jervis, and 
please forgive me if I beg you to put aside your pro¬ 
fessional reserve just a little in my favour. I want 
you to tell me if you think Dr. Thorndyke has any 
kind of hope or expectation of being able to save 
poor Reuben from the dreadful peril that threatens 
him.” 

This was a rather pointed question, and I took 
some time to consider it before replying. 

“I should like,” I replied at length, “to tell you 
as much as my duty to my colleague will allow me 
to; but that is so little that it is hardly worth telling. 
However, I may say this without breaking any con¬ 
fidence : Dr. Thorndyke has undertaken the case and 
is working hard at it, and he would, most assuredly, 
have done neither the one nor the other if he had 
considered it a hopeless one.” 

“That is a very encouraging view of the matter,” 
said she, “which had, however, already occurred 
to me. May I ask if anything came of your visit 
to Scotland Yard? Oh, please don’t think me en¬ 
croaching; I am so terribly anxious and troubled.” 

“I can tell you very little about the results of our 
expedition, for I know very little; but I have an idea 
that Dr. Thorndyke is not dissatisfied with his morn¬ 
ing’s work. He certainly picked up some facts, 
though I have no idea of their nature, and as soon as 
we reached home he developed a sudden desire to 
examine the ‘Thumbograph.’ ” 

“Thank you, Dr. Jervis,” she said gratefully. 




CONFIDENCES 


59 


“You have cheered me more than I can tell you, and 
I won’t ask you any more questions. Are you sure 
I am not bringing you out of the way ?” 

“Not at all,” I answered hastily. “The fact is, 
I had hoped to have a little chat with you when we 
had disposed of the ‘Thumbograph,’ so I can regard 
myself as combining a little business with a great 
deal of pleasure if I am allowed to accompany you.” 

She gave me a little ironical bow as she inquired— 

“And, in short, I may take it that I am to be 
pumped?” 

“Come, now,” I retorted. “You have been plying 
the pump handle pretty vigorously yourself. But 
that is not my meaning at all. You see, we are 
absolute strangers to all the parties concerned in 
this case, which, of course, makes for an impartial 
estimate of their characters. But after all, know¬ 
ledge is more useful to us than impartiality. There 
is our client, for instance. He impressed us both 
very favourably, I think; but he might have been a 
plausible rascal with the blackest of records. Then 
you come and tell us that he is a gentleman of stain¬ 
less character and we are at once on firmer ground.” 

“I see,” said Miss Gibson thoughtfully; “and 
suppose that I or some one else had told you things 
that seemed to reflect on his character. Would they 
have influenced you in your attitude towards him?” 

“Only in this,” I replied; “that we should have 
made it our business to inquire into the truth of 
those reports and ascertain their origin.” 


60 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“That is what one should always do, I suppose,” 
said she, still with an air of deep thoughtfulness 
which encouraged me to inquire— 

“May I ask if anyone to your knowledge has ever 
said anything to Mr. Reuben’s disadvantage?” 

She pondered for some time before replying, and 
kept her eyes bent pensively on the ground. At 
length she said, not without some hesitation of 
manner— 

“It is a small thing and quite without any bearing 
on this affair. But it has been a great trouble to . 
me since it has to some extent put a barrier between 
Reuben and me; and we used to be such close friends. 
And I have blamed myself for letting it influence me 
—perhaps unjustly—in my opinion of him. I will 
tell you about it, though I expect you will think me 
very foolish. 

“You must know, then, that Reuben and I used, 
until about six months ago, to be very much together, 
though we were only friends, you understand. But 
we were on the footing of relatives, so there was 
nothing out of the way in it. Reuben is a keen 
student of ancient and mediaeval art, in which I also 
am much interested, so we used to visit the museums 
and galleries together and get a great deal of 
pleasure from comparing our views and impressions 
of what we saw. 

“About six months ago, Walter took me aside one 
. day and, with a very serious face, asked me if there 
was any kind of understanding between Reuben and 


CONFIDENCES 


61 


me. I thought it rather impertinent of him, but 
nevertheless, I told him the truth, that Reuben and 
I were just friends and nothing more. 

“ ‘If that is the case,’ said he, looking mighty 
grave, ‘I would advise you not to be seen about with 
him quite so much.’ 

“ ‘And why not?’ I asked very naturally. 

“ ‘Why, the fact is,’ said Walter, ‘that Reuben 
is a confounded fool. He has been chattering to 
the men at the club and seems to have given them 
the impression that a young lady of means and posi¬ 
tion has been setting her cap at him very hard, but 
that he, being a high-souled philosopher above the 
temptations that beset ordinary mortals, is superior 
both to her blandishments and her pecuniary attrac¬ 
tions. I give you the hint for your own guidance,’ 
he continued, ‘and I expect this to go no farther. 
You mustn’t be annoyed with Reuben. The best of 
young men will often behave like prigs and donkeys, 
and I have no doubt the fellows have grossly exag¬ 
gerated what he said; but I thought it right to put 
you on your guard.’ 

“Now this report, as you may suppose, made me 
excessively angry, and I wanted to have it out with 
Reuben then and there. But Walter refused to 
sanction this—‘there was no use in making a scene’ 
he said—and he insisted that the caution was given 
to me in strict confidence; so what was I to do? I 
tried to ignore it and treat Reuben as I always had 
done, but this I found impossible; my womanly pride 


62 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


was much too deeply hurt. And yet I felt It the 
lowest depth of meanness to harbour such thoughts 
of him without giving him the opportunity to defend 
himself. And although it was most unlike Reuben 
in some respects, it was very like him in others; for 
he has always expressed the utmost contempt for 
men who marry for a livelihood. So I have re¬ 
mained on the horns of a dilemma and am there still. 
What do you think I ought to have done?” 

I rubbed my chin in some embarrassment at this 
question. Needless to say, I was most disagreeably 
impressed by Walter Hornby’s conduct, and not a 
little disposed to blame my fair companion for giv¬ 
ing an ear to his secret disparagement of his cousin; 
but I was obviously not in a position to pronounce, 
offhand, upon the merits of the case. 

“The position appears to be this,” I said, after a 
pause, “either Reuben has spoken most unworthily 
and untruthfully of you, or Walter has lied delib¬ 
erately about him.” 

“Yes,” she agreed, “that is the position; but which 
of the two alternatives appears to you the more 
probable?” 

“That is very difficult to say,” I answered. 
“There is a certain kind of cad who is much given to 
boastful rhodomontade concerning his conquests. 
We all know him and can generally spot him at first 
sight, but I must say that Reuben Hornby did not 
strike me as that kind of man at all. Then it is clear 
that the proper course for Walter to have adopted, 


CONFIDENCES 


63 


if he had really heard such rumours, was to have 
had the matter out with Reuben, instead of coming 
secretly to you with whispered reports. That is my 
feeling, Miss Gibson, but of course, I may be quite 
wrong. I gather that our two young friends are not 
inseparable companions?” 

“Oh, they are very good friends, but you see, their 
interests and views of life are quite different. Reu¬ 
ben, although an excellent worker in business hours, 
is a student, or perhaps rather what one would call 
a scholar, whereas Walter is more a practical man 
of affairs—decidedly long-headed and shrewd. He 
is undoubtedly very clever, as Mrs. Hornby said.” 

“He takes photographs, for instance,” I sug¬ 
gested. 

“Yes. But not ordinary amateur photographs; 
his work is more technical and quite excellent of its 
kind. For example, he did a most beautiful series 
of micro-photographs of sections of metalliferous 
rocks which he reproduced for publication by the 
collotype process, and even printed off the plates 
himself.” 

“I see. He must be a very capable fellow.” 

“He is, very,” she assented, “and very keen on 
making a position; but I am afraid he is rather too 
fond of money for its own sake, which is not a 
pleasant feature in a young man’s character, is it?” 

I agreed that it was not. 

“Excessive keenness in money affairs,” proceeded 
Miss Gibson oracularly, “is apt to lead a young man 


64 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


into bad ways—oh, you need not smile, Dr. Jervis, 
at my wise saws; it is perfectly true, and you know 
it. The fact is, I sometimes have an uneasy feeling 
that Walter’s desire to be rich inclines him to try 
what looks like a quick and easy method of making 
money. He had a friend—a Mr. Horton—who is 
a dealer on the Stock Exchange and who ‘operates’ 
rather largely—‘operate’ I believe is the expression 
used, although it seems to be nothing more than com¬ 
mon gambling—and I have more than once sus¬ 
pected Walter of being concerned in what Mr. 
Horton calls ‘a little flutter.’ ” 

“That doesn’t strike me as a very long-headed 
proceeding,” I remarked, with the impartial wisdom 
of the impecunious, and therefore untempted. 

“No,” she agreed, “it isn’t. But your gambler 
always thinks he is going to win—though you 
mustn’t let me give you the impression that Walter 
is a gambler. But here is my destination. Thank 
you for escorting me so far, and I hope you are be¬ 
ginning to feel less like a stranger to the Hornby 
family. We shall make our appearance to-night at 
eight punctually.” 

She gave me her hand with a frank smile and 
tripped up the steps leading to the street door; and 
when I glanced back, after crossing the road, she 
gave me a little friendly nod as she turned to enter 
the house. 



CHAPTER V 

THE ‘THUMBOGRAPH’ 

ao O your net has been sweeping the quiet and 
pleasant waters of feminine conversation,” 
remarked Thorndyke when we met at the 
dinner table and I gave him an outline of my after¬ 
noon’s adventures. 

“Yes,” I answered, “and here is the catch cleaned 
and ready for the consumer.” 

I laid on the table two of my notebooks in which 
I had entered such facts as I had been able to ex¬ 
tract from my talk with Miss Gibson. 

“You made your entries as soon as possible after 
your return, I suppose?” said Thorndyke—“while 
the matter was still fresh?” 

“I wrote down my notes as I sat on a seat in 
Kensington Gardens within five minutes after leav¬ 
ing Miss Gibson.” 

“Good!” said Thorndyke. “And now let us see 
what you have collected.” 

He glanced quickly through the entries in the two 
books, referring back once or twice, and stood for 
65 


66 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


a few moments silent and abstracted. Then he laid 
the little books down on the table with a satisfied 
nod. 

“Our information, then,” he said, “amounts to 
this: Reuben is an industrious worker at his business 
and, in his leisure, a student of ancient and mediaeval 
art; possibly a babbling fool and a cad or, on the 
other hand, a maligned and much-abused man. 

“Walter Hornby is obviously a sneak and possibly 
a liar; a keen man of business, perhaps a flutterer 
round the financial candle that burns in Throgmor¬ 
ton Street; an expert photographer and a competent 
worker of the collotype process. You have done a 
very excellent day’s work, Jervis. I wonder if you 
see the bearing of the facts that you have collected.” 

“I think I see the bearing of some of them,” I 
answered; “at least, I have formed certain opin¬ 
ions.” 

“Then keep them to yourself, mon ami, so that 
I need not feel as if I ought to unbosom myself of 
my own views.” 

“I should be very much surprised if you did, 
Thorndyke,” I replied, “and should have none the 
better opinion of you. I realize fully that your 
opinions and theories are the property of your client 
and not to be used for the entertainment of your 
frineds.” 

Thorndyke patted me on the back playfully, but 
he looked uncommonly pleased, and said, with evi¬ 
dent sincerity, “I am really grateful to you for say- 


THE “THUMBOGRAPH 


67 


ing that, for I have felt a little awkward in being so 
reticent with you who know so much of this case. 
But you are quite right, and I am delighted to find 
you so discerning and sympathetic. The least I 
can do under the circumstances is to uncork a bottle 
of Pommard, and drink the health of so loyal and 
helpful a colleague. Ah! Praise the gods! here is 
Polton, like a sacrificial priest accompanied by a 
sweet savour of roasted flesh. Rump steak I ween,” 
he added, sniffing, “food meet for the mighty 
Shamash (that pun was fortuitous, I need not say) 
or a ravenous medical jurist. Can you explain to 
me, Polton, how it is that your rump steak is better 
than any other steak? Is it that you have command 
of a special brand of ox?” 

The little man’s dry countenance wrinkled with 
pleasure until it was full of lines as a ground-plan 
of Clapham Junction. 

“Perhaps it is the special treatment it gets, sir,” 
he replied. “I usually bruise it in the mortar before 
cooking, without breaking up the fibre too much, 
and then I heat up the little cupel furnace to about 
600 C., and put the steak in on a tripod.” 

Thorn dyke laughed outright. “The cupel fur¬ 
nace, too,” he exclaimed. “Well, well, ‘to what base 
uses’—but I don’t know that it is a base use after 
all. Anyhow, Polton, open a bottle of Pommard 
and put a couple of ten by eight ‘process’ plates in 
your dark slides. I am expecting two ladies here 
this evening with a document.” 


68 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“Shall you bring them upstairs, sir?” inquired 
Polton, with an alarmed expression. 

“I expect I shall have to,” answered Thorndyke. 

“Then I shall just smarten the laboratory up a 
bit,” said Polton, who evidently appreciated the 
difference between the masculine and feminine view 
as to the proper appearance of working premises. 

“And so Miss Gibson wanted to know our private 
views on the case?” said Thorndyke, when his 
voracity had become somewhat appeased. 

“Yes,” I answered; and then I repeated our con¬ 
versation as nearly as I could remember it. 

“Your answer was very discreet and diplomatic,” 
Thorndyke remarked, “and it was very necessary 
that it should be, for it is essential that we show 
the backs of our cards to Scotland Yard; and if to 
Scotland Yard, then to the whole world. We know 
what their trump card is and can arrange our play 
accordingly, so long as we do not show our hand.” 

“You speak of the police as your antagonists; 1 
noticed that at the ‘Yard’ this morning, and was 
surprised to find that they accepted the position. 
But surely their business is to discover the actual 
offender, not to fix the crime on some particular per¬ 
son.” 

“That would seem to be so,” replied Thorndyke, 
“but in practice it is otherwise. When the police 
have made an arrest they work for a conviction. If 
the man is innocent, that is his business, not theirs; 
it is for him to prove it. The system is a pernicious 


THE “THUMBOGRAPH 1 


69 


one—especially since the efficiency of a police officer 
is, in consequence, apt to be estimated by the number 
of convictions he has secured, and an inducement is 
thus held out to him to obtain a conviction, if possi¬ 
ble; but it is of a piece with legislative procedure 
in general. Lawyers are not engaged in academic 
discussions or in the pursuit of truth, but each is 
trying, by hook or by crook, to make out a particular 
case without regard to its actual truth or even to 
the lawyer’s own belief on the subject. That is what 
produces so much friction between lawyers and 
scientific witnesses; neither can understand the point 
of view of the other. But we must not sit over the 
table chattering like this; it has gone half-past seven, 
and Polton will be wanting to make this room pre¬ 
sentable.” 

“I notice you don’t use your office much,” I re¬ 
marked. 

“Hardly at all, excepting as a repository for docu¬ 
ments and stationery. It is very cheerless to talk 
in an office, and nearly all my business is transacted 
with solicitors and counsel who are known to me, 
so there is no need for such formalities. All right, 
Polton; we shall be ready for you in five minutes.” 

The Temple bell was striking eight as, at Thorn- 
dyke’s request, I threw open the iron-bound “oak”; 
and even as I did so the sound of footsteps came up 
from the stairs below. I waited on the landing for 
our two visitors, and led them into the room. 

“I am so glad to make your acquaintance,” said 


70 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


Mrs. Hornby, when I had done the honours of intro¬ 
duction; “I have heard so much about you from 
Juliet-” 

“Really, my dear aunt,” protested Miss Gibson, 
as she caught my eye with a look of comical alarm, 
“you will give Dr. Thorndyke a most erroneous 
impression. I merely mentioned that I had intruded 
on him without notice and had been received with 
undeserved indulgence and consideration.” 

“You didn’t put it quite in that way, my dear,” 
said Mrs. Hornby, “but I suppose it doesn’t matter.” 

“We are highly gratified by Miss Gibson’s favour¬ 
able report of us, whatever may have been the actual 
form of expression,” said Thorndyke, with a 
momentary glance at the younger lady which covered 
her with smiling confusion, “and we are deeply in¬ 
debted to you for taking so much trouble to help us.” 

“It is no trouble at all, but a great pleasure,” 
replied Mrs. Hornby; and she proceeded to enlarge 
on the matter until her remarks threatened, like the 
rippling circles produced by a falling stone, to spread 
out into infinity. In the midst of this discourse 
Thorndyke placed chairs for the two ladies, and, 
leaning against the mantlepiece, fixed a stony gaze 
upon the small handbag that hung from Mrs. Horn¬ 
by’s wrist. 

“Is the ‘Thumbograph’ in your bag?” interrupted 
Miss Gibson, in response to this mute appeal. 

“Of course it is, my dear Juliet,” replied the elder 
lady. “You saw me put it in yourself. What an 



THE “THUMBOGRAPH” 


71 


odd girl you are. Did you think I should have taken 
it out and put it somewhere else? Not that these 
handbags are really very secure, you know, although 
I daresay they are safer than pockets, especially 
now that it is the fashion to have the pocket at the 
back. Still, I have often thought how easy it would 
be for a thief or a pickpocket or some other dreadful 
creature of that kind, don’t you know, to make a 
snatch and—in fact, the thing has actually happened. 
Why, I knew a lady—Mrs. Moggridge, you know, 
Juliet—no, it wasn’t Mrs. Moggridge, that was an¬ 
other affair, it was Mrs.—Mrs.—dear me, how silly 
of me!—now, what was her name? Can’t you help 
me, Juliet? You must surely remember the woman. 
She used to visit a good deal at the Hawley-John- 
sons’, or else it was those people, you know-” 

“Hadn’t you better give Dr. Thorndyke the 
‘Thumbograph’?” interrupted Miss Gibson. 

“Why, of course, Juliet, dear. What else did we 
come here for?” With a slightly injured expression, 
Mrs. Hornby opened the little bag and commenced, 
with the utmost deliberation, to turn out its contents 
on to the table. These included a laced handker¬ 
chief, a purse, a card-case, a visiting list, a packet of 
papier poudre, and when she had laid the last-men¬ 
tioned article on the table, she paused abruptly and 
gazed into Miss Gibson’s face with the air of one 
who has made a startling discovery. 

“I remember the woman’s name,” she said in an 



72 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


impressive voice. “It was Gudge—Mrs. Gudge, the 
sister-in-law of-” 

Here Miss Gibson made an unceremonious dive 
into the open bag and fished out a tiny parcel 
wrapped in notepaper and secured with a silk thread. 

“Thank you,” said Thorndyke, taking it from her 
hand just as Mrs. Hornby was reaching out to inter¬ 
cept it. He cut the thread and drew from its wrap¬ 
pings a little book bound in red cloth, with the word 
“Thumbograph” stamped upon the cover, and was 
beginning to inspect it when Mrs. Hornby rose and 
stood beside him. 

“That,” said she, as she opened the book at the 
first page, “is the thumb-mark of a Miss Colley. 
She is no connection of ours. You see it is a little 
smeared—she said Reuben jogged her elbow, but I 
don’t think he did; at any rate he assured me he did 
not, and, you know-” 

“Ah! Here is one we are looking for,” inter¬ 
rupted Thorndyke, who had been turning the leaves 
of the book regardless of Mrs. Hornby’s rambling 
comments; “a very good impression, too, consider¬ 
ing the rather rough method of producing it.” 

He reached out for the reading lens that hung 
from its nail above the mantlepiece, and I could tell 
by the eagerness with which he peered through it at 
the thumb-print that he was looking for something. 
A moment later I felt sure that he had found that 
something which he had sought, for, though he re¬ 
placed the lens upon its nail with a quiet and com- 




THE “THUMBOGRAPH 


73 


posed air and made no remark, there was a sparkle 
of the eye and a scarcely perceptible flush of sup¬ 
pressed excitement and triumph which I had begun 
to recognise beneath the impassive mask that he 
presented to the world. 

“I shall ask you to leave this little book with me, 
Mrs. Hornby,” he said, breaking in upon that lady’s 
inconsequent babblings, “and, as I may possibly put 
it in evidence, it would be a wise precaution for you 
and Miss Gibson to sign your names—as small as 
possible—on the page which bears Mr. Reuben’s 
thumb-mark. That will anticipate any suggestion 
that the book has been tampered with after leaving 
your hands.” 

“It would be a great impertinence for anyone to 
make any such suggestion,” Mrs. Hornby began; but 
on Thorndyke’s placing his fountain pen in her hand, 
she wrote her signature in the place indicated and 
handed the pen to Miss Gibson, who signed under¬ 
neath. 

“And now,” said Thorndyke, “we will take an 
enlarged photograph of this page with the thumb- 
mark; not that it is necessary that it should be done 
now, as you are leaving the book in my possession; 
but the photograph will be wanted, and as my man 
is expecting us and has the apparatus ready, we may 
as well despatch the business at once.” 

To this both the ladies readily agreed (being, in 
fact, devoured by curiosity with regard to my col¬ 
league’s premises), and we accordingly proceeded 


74 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


to invade the set of rooms on the floor above, over 
which the ingenious Polton was accustomed to reign 
in solitary grandeur. 

It was my first visit to these mysterious regions, 
and I looked about me with as much curiosity as 
did the two ladies. The first room that we entered 
was apparently the workshop, for it contained a 
small woodworker’s bench, a lathe, a bench for metal 
work and a number of mechanical appliances which 
I was not then able to examine; but I noticed that 
the entire place presented to the eye a most unwork¬ 
manlike neatness, a circumstance that did not escape 
Thorndyke’s observation, for his face relaxed into 
a grim smile as his eye travelled over the bare 
benches and the clean-swept floor. 

From this room we entered the laboratory, a large 
apartment, one side of which was given up to chem¬ 
ical research, as was shown by the shelves of 
reagents that covered the wall, and the flasks, re¬ 
torts and other apparatus that were arranged on 
the bench, like ornaments on a drawing-room mantle- 
piece. On the opposite side of the room was a large, 
massively-constructed copying camera, the front of 
which, carrying the lens, was fixed, and an easel or 
copy-holder travelled on parallel guides towards, or 
away, from it, on a long stand. 

This apparatus Thorndyke proceeded to explain 
to our visitors while Polton was fixing the “Thumbo- 
graph” in a holder attached to the easel. 

“You see,” he said, in answer to a question from 


THE “THUMBOGRAPH 


75 


Miss Gibson, “ I have a good deal to do with sig¬ 
natures, cheques and disputed documents of various 
kinds. Now a skilled eye, aided by a pocket-lens, 
can make out very minute details on a cheque or 
bank-note; but it is not possible to lend one’s skilled 
eye to a judge or juryman, so that it is often very 
convenient to be able to hand them a photograph 
in which the magnification is already done, which 
they can compare with the original. Small things, 
when magnified, develop quite unexpected charac¬ 
ters; for instance, you have handled a good many 
postage stamps, I suppose, but have you ever noticed 
the little white spots in the upper corner of a penny 
stamp, or even the difference in the foliage on the 
two sides of the wreath?” 

Miss Gibson admitted that she had not. 

“Very few people have, I suppose, excepting 
stamp-collectors,” continued Thorndyke; “but now 
just glance at this and you will find these unnoticed 
details forced upon your attention.” As he spoke, 
he handed her a photograph, which he had taken 
from a drawer, showing a penny stamp enlarged 
to a length of eight inches. 

While the ladies were marvelling over this pro¬ 
duction, Polton proceeded with his work. The 
“Thumbograph” having been fixed in position, the 
light from a powerful incandescent gas lamp, fitted 
with a parabolic reflector, was concentrated on it, 
and the camera racked out to its proper distance. 

“What are those figures intended to show?” in- 


76 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


quired Miss Gibson, indicating the graduation on 
the side of one of the guides. 

“They show the amount of magnification or re¬ 
duction,” Thorndyke explained. “When the pointer 
is opposite 0, the photograph is the same size as the 
object photographed; when it points to, say, X 4, 
the photograph will be four times the width and 
length of the object, while if it should point to, say, 
-T- 4, the photograph will be one-fourth the length 
of the object. It is now, you see, pointing to X 8, 
so the photograph will be eight times the diameter 
of the original thumb-mark.” 

By this time Polton had brought the camera to 
an accurate focus and, when we had all been gratified 
by a glimpse of the enlarged image on the focussing 
screen, we withdrew to a smaller room which was 
devoted to bacteriology and microscopical research, 
while the exposure was made and the plate devel¬ 
oped. Here, after an interval, we were joined by 
Polton, who bore with infinite tenderness the drip¬ 
ping negative on which could be seen the grotesque 
transparency of a colossal thumb-mark. 

This Thorndyke scrutinised eagerly, and having 
pronounced it satisfactory, informed Mrs. Hornby 
that the object of her visit was attained, and thanked 
her for the trouble she had taken. 

“I am very glad we came,” said Miss Gibson to 
me, as a little later we walked slowly up Mitre Court 
in the wake of Mrs. Hornby and Thorndyke; “and 
I am glad to have seen these wonderful instruments, 




THE “THUMBOGRAPH” 


77 


too. It has made me realise that something is being 
done and that Dr. Thorndyke really has some object 
in view. It has really encouraged me immensely.” 

“And very properly so,” I replied. “I, too, al¬ 
though I really know nothing of what my colleague 
is doing, feel very strongly that he would not take 
all this trouble and give up so much valuable time 
if he had not some very definite purpose and some 
substantial reasons for taking a hopeful view.” 

“Thank you for saying that,” she rejoined warm¬ 
ly; “and you will let me have a crumb of comfort 
when you can, won’t you?” She looked in my face 
so wistfully as she made this appeal that I was quite 
moved; and, indeed, I am not sure that my state of 
mind at that moment did not fully justify my col¬ 
league’s reticence towards me. 

However, I fortunately, had nothing to tell, and 
so, when we emerged into Fleet Street to find Mrs. 
Hornby already ensconced in a hansom, I could only 
promise, as I grasped the hand that she offered to 
me, to see her again at the earliest opportunity—a 
promise which my inner consciousness assured me 
would be strictly fulfilled. 

“You seem to be on quite confidential terms with 
our fair friend,” Thorndyke remarked, as we 
strolled back towards his chambers. “You are an 
insinuating dog, Jervis.” 

“She is very frank and easy to get on with,” I 
replied. 

“Yes. A good girl and a clever girl, and comely 


78 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


to look upon withal. I suppose it would be super¬ 
fluous for me to suggest that you mind your eye?” 

“I shouldn’t, in any case, try to cut out a man 
who is under a cloud,” I replied sulkily. 

“Of course you wouldn’t; hence the need of at¬ 
tention to the ophthalmic member. Have you as¬ 
certained what Miss Gibson’s actual relation is to 
Reuben Hornby?” 

“No,” I answered. 

“It might be worth while to find out,” said Thorn- 
dyke ; and then relapsed into silence. 


CHAPTER VI 

COMMITTED FOR TRIAL 

T HORNDYKE’S hint as to the possible 
danger foreshadowed by my growing inti¬ 
macy with Juliet Gibson had come upon me 
as a complete surprise, and had, indeed, been re¬ 
sented by me as somewhat of an impertinence. 
Nevertheless, it gave me considerable food for 
meditation, and I presently began to suspect that the 
watchful eyes of my observant friend might have 
detected something in my manner towards Miss Gib¬ 
son suggestive of sentiments that had been unsus¬ 
pected by myself. 

Of course it would be absurd to suppose that any 
real feeling could have been engendered by so ridicu¬ 
lously brief an acquaintance. I had only met the girl 
three times, and even now, excepting for business 
relations, was hardly entitled to more than a bow of 
recognition. But yet, when I considered the matter 
impartially and examined my own consiousness, I 
could not but recognise that she had aroused in me 
an interest which bore no relation to the part that 
79 


80 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


she had played in the drama that was so slowly un¬ 
folding. She was undeniably a very handsome girl, 
and her beauty was of a type that specially appealed 
to me—full of dignity and character that gave 
promise of a splendid middle age. And her person¬ 
ality was in other ways not less attractive, for she 
was frank and open, sprightly and intelligent, and 
though evidently quite self-reliant, was in nowise 
lacking in that womanly softness that so strongly 
engages a man’s sympathy. 

In short, I realised that, had there been no such 
person as Reuben Hornby, I should have viewed 
Miss Gibson with uncommon interest. 

But, unfortunately, Reuben Hornby was a most 
palpable reality, and, moreover, the extraordinary 
difficulties of his position entitled him to very special 
consideration by any man of honour. It was true 
that Miss Gibson had repudiated any feelings 
towards Reuben other than those of old-time friend¬ 
ship; but young ladies are not always impartial 
judges of their own feelings, and, as a man of the 
world, I could not but have my own opinion on the 
matter—which opinion I believed to be shared by 
Thorndyke. The conclusions to which my cogita¬ 
tions at length brought me were: first, that I was an 
egotistical donkey, and, second, that my relations 
with Miss Gibson were of an exclusively business 
character and must in future be conducted on that 
basis, with the added consideration that I was the 
confidential agent, for the time being, of Reuben 


COMMITTED FOR TRIAL 81 

Hornby, and in honour bound to regard his interests 
as paramount. 

“I am hoping,” said Thorndyke, as he held out 
his hand for my teacup, “that these profound re¬ 
flections of yours are connected with the Hornby 
affair; in which case I should expect to hear that the 
riddle is solved and the mystery made plain.” 

“Why should you expect that?” I demanded, 
reddening somewhat, I suspect, as I met his twink¬ 
ling eye. There was something rather disturbing in 
the dry, quizzical smile that I encountered and the 
reflection that I had been under observation, and I 
felt as much embarrassed as I should suppose a self- 
conscious water-flea might feel on finding itself on 
the illuminated stage of a binocular microscope. 

“My dear fellow,” said Thorndyke, “you have 
not spoken a word for the last quarter of an hour; 
you have devoured your food with the relentless 
regularity of a sausage-machine, and you have, from 
time to time, made the most damnable faces at the 
coffee-pot—though there I’ll wager the coffee-pot 
was even with you, if I may judge by the present¬ 
ment that it offers of my own countenance.” 

I roused myself from my reverie with a laugh at 
Thorndyke’s quaint conceit and a glance at the 
grotesquely distorted reflection of my face in the 
polished silver. 

“I am afraid I have been a rather dull companion 
this morning,” I admitted apologetically. 

“By no means,” replied Thorndyke, with a grin. 


82 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“On the contrary, I have found you both amusing 
and instructive, and I only spoke when I had ex¬ 
hausted your potentialities as a silent entertainer.” 

“You are pleased to be facetious at my expense,” 
said I. 

“Well, the expense was not a very heavy one,” 
he retorted. “I have been merely consuming a by¬ 
product of your mental activity- Hallo! that’s 

Anstey already.” 

A peculiar knock, apparently delivered with the 
handle of a walking-stick on the outer door, was the 
occasion of this exclamation, and as Thorndyke 
sprang up and flung the door open, a clear, musical 
voice was borne in, the measured cadences of which 
proclaimed at once the trained orator. 

“Hail, learned brother!” it exclaimed. “Do I 
disturb you untimely at your studies?” Here our 
visitor entered the room and looked round critically. 
“ ’Tis even so,” he declared. “Physiological chemis¬ 
try and its practical applications appears to be the 
subject. A physico-chemical inquiry into the pro¬ 
perties of streaky bacon and fried eggs. Do I see 
another learned brotfi^r?” 

He peered keenly at me through his pince-nez, 
and I gazed at him in some embarrassment. 

“This is my friend Jervis, of whom you have 
heard me speak,” said Thorndyke. “He is with us 
in this case, you know.” 

“The echoes of your fame have reached me, sir,” 
said Anstey, holding out his hand. “I am proud to 



COMMITTED FOR TRIAL 


83 


know you. I should have recognised you instantly 
from the portrait of your lamented uncle in Green¬ 
wich Hospital.” 

“Anstey is a wag, you understand,” explained 
Thorndyke, “but he has lucid intervals. He’ll have 
one presently if we are patient.” 

“Patient!” snorted our eccentric visitor, “it is I 
who need to be patient when I am dragged into po¬ 
lice courts and other sinks of iniquity to plead for 
common thieves and robbers like a Kennington Lane 
advocate.” 

“You’ve been talking to Lawley, I see,” said 
Thorndyke. > r 

“Yes, and he tells me that we haven’t a leg to 
stand upon.” 

“No, we’ve got to stand on our heads, as men of 
intellect should. But Lawley knows nothing about 
the case.” 

“He thinks he knows it all,” said Anstey. 

“Most fools do,” retorted Thorndyke. “They 
arrive at their knowledge by ii\fuition—a deuced 
easy road and cheap travell^^' too. We reserve 
our defence—I suppose you agree to that?” 

“I suppose so. The magistrate is sure to commit 
unless you have an unquestionable alibi” 

“We shall put in an alibi, but we are not depend¬ 
ing on it. ” 

“Then we had better reserve our defence,” said 
Anstey; “and it is time that we wended on our 


84 THE RED THUMB MARK 


pilgrimage, for we are due at Lawley’s at half-past 
ten. Is Jervis coming with us?” 

“Yes, you’d better come,” said Thorndyke. “It’s 
the adjourned hearing of poor Hornby’s case, you 
know. There won’t be anything done on our side, 
but we may be able to glean some hint from the 
prosecution.” 

“I should like to hear what takes place, at any 
rate,” I said, and we accordingly sallied forth to¬ 
gether in the direction of Lincoln’s Inn, on the north 
side of which Mr. Lawley’s office was situated. 

“Ah!” said the solicitor, as we entered, “I am 
glad you’ve come; I was getting anxious—it doesn’t 
do to be late on these occasions, you know. Let me 
see, do you know Mr. Walter Hornby? I don’t 
think you do.” He presented Thorndyke and me to 
our client’s cousin, and as we shook hands, we viewed 
one another with a good deal of mutual interest. 

“I have heard about you from my aunt,” said he, 
addressing himself more particularly to me. “She 
appears to regard you as a kind of legal Maskelyne 
and Cooke. I hope, for my cousin’s sake, that you 
will be able to work the wonders that she anticipates. 
Poor old fellow! He looks pretty bad, doesn’t he ?” 

I glanced at Reuben, who was at the moment 
talking to Thorndyke, and as he caught my eye he 
held out his hand with a warmth that I found very 
pathetic. He seemed to have aged since I had last 
seen him, and was pale and rather thinner, but he 


COMMITTED FOR TRIAL 85 

was composed in his manner and seemed to me to 
be taking his trouble very well on the whole. 

“Cab’s at the door, sir,” a clerk announced. 

“Cab,” repeated Mr. Lawley, looking dubiously 
at me; “we want an omnibus.” 

“Dr. Jervis and I can walk,” Walter Hornby 
suggested. “We shall probably get there as soon 
as you, and it doesn’t matter if we don’t.” 

“Yes, that will do,” said Mr. Lawley; “you two 
walk down together. Now let us go.” 

We trooped out on to the pavement, beside which 
a four-wheeler was drawn up, and as the others were 
entering the cab, Thorndyke stood close beside me 
for a moment. 

“Don’t let him pump you,” he said in a low voice, 
without looking at me; then he sprang into the cab 
and slammed the door. 

“What an extraordinary affair this is,” Walter 
Hornby remarked, after we had been walking in 
silence for a minute or two; “a most ghastly busi¬ 
ness. I must confess that I can make neither head 
nor tail of it.” 

“How is that?” I asked. 

“Why, do you see, there are apparently only two 
possible theories of the crime, and each of them 
seems to be unthinkable. On the one hand there is 
Reuben, a man of the most scrupulous honour, as 
far as my experience of him goes, committing a 
mean and sordid theft for which no motive can be 
discovered—for he is not poor, nor pecuniarily em- 




86 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


barrassed nor in the smallest degree avaricious. 
On the other hand, there is this thumb-print, which, 
in the opinion of the experts, is tantamount to the 
evidence of an eye-witness that he did commit the 
theft. It is positively bewildering. Don’t you think 
so?” 

“As you put it,” I answered, “the case is extra¬ 
ordinarily puzzling.” 

“But how else would you put it?” he demanded, 
with ill-concealed eagerness. 

“I mean that, if Reuben is the man you believe 
him to be, the thing is incomprehensible.” 

“Quite so,” he agreed, though he was evidently 
disappointed at my colourless answer. 

He walked on silently for a few minutes and then 
said: “I suppose it would not be fair to ask if you 
see any way out of the difficulty? We are all, 
naturally anxious about the upshot of the affair, see¬ 
ing what poor old Reuben’s position is.” 

“Naturally. But the fact is that I know no more 
than you do, and as to Thorndyke, you might as 
well cross-examine a Whitstable native as put ques¬ 
tions to him.” 

“Yes, so I gathered from Juliet. But I thought 
you might have gleaned some notion of the line of 
defence from your work in the laboratory—the 
microscopical and photographic work I mean.” 

“I was never in the laboratory until last night, 
when Thorndyke took me there with your aunt and 
Miss Gibson; the work there is done by the labora- 


COMMITTED FOR TRIAL 


87 


tory assistant, and his knowledge of the case, I 
should say, is about as great as a type-founder’s 
knowledge of the books that he is helping to pro¬ 
duce. No; Thorndyke is a man who plays a single- 
handed game and no one knows what cards he holds 
until he lays them on the table.” 

My companion considered this statement in silence 
while I congratulated myself on having parried, with 
great adroitness, a rather inconvenient question. 
But the time was not far distant when I should have 
occasion to reproach myself bitterly for having been 
so explicit and emphatic. 

“My uncle’s condition,” Walter resumed after a 
pause, “is a pretty miserable one at present, with 
this horrible affair added to his own personal 
worries.” 

“Has he any special trouble besides this, then?” 
I asked. 

“Why, haven’t you heard? I thought you knew 
about it, or I shouldn’t have spoken—not that it is 
in any way a secret, seeing that it is public property 
in the city. The fact is that his financial affairs are 
a little entangled just now.” 

“Indeed!” I exclaimed, considerably startled by 
this new development. 

“Yes, things have taken a rather awkward turn, 
though I think he will pull through all right. It is 
the usual thing, you know—investments, or perhaps 
one should say speculations. He appears to have 
sunk a lot of capital in mines—thought he was ‘in 


88 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


the know,’ not unnaturally; but it seems he wasn’t 
after all, and the things have gone wrong, leaving 
him with a deal more money than he can afford 
locked up and the possibility of a dead loss if they 
don’t revive. Then there are these infernal dia¬ 
monds. He is not morally responsible, we know; 
but it is a question if he is not legally responsible, 
though the lawyers think he is not. Anyhow, there 
is going to be a meeting of the creditors to-morrow.” 

“And what do you think they will do?” 

“Oh, they will, most probably, let him go on for 
the present; but, of course, if he is made accountable 
for the diamonds there will be nothing for it but 
to ‘go through the hoop,’ as the sporting financier 
expresses it.” 

“The diamonds were of considerable value, 
then?” 

“From twenty-five to thirty thousand pounds’ 
worth vanished with that parcel.” 

I whistled. This was a much bigger affair than 
I had imagined, and I was wondering if Thorndyke 
had realized the magnitude of the robbery, when we 
arrived at the police court. 

“I suppose our friends have gone inside,” said 
Walter. “They must have got here before us.” 

This supposition was confirmed by a constable 
of whom we made inquiry, and who directed us to 
the entrance to the court. Passing down a passage 
and elbowing our way through the throng of idlers, 



COMMITTED FOR TRIAL 89 

we made for the solicitor’s box, where we had barely 
taken our seats when the case was called. 

Unspeakably dreary and depressing were the brief 
proceedings that followed, and dreadfully suggestive 
of the helplessness of even an innocent man on whom 
the law has laid its hand and in whose behalf its 
inexorable machinery has been set in motion. 

The presiding magistrate, emotionless and dry, 
dipped his pen while Reuben, who had surrendered 
to his bail, was placed in the dock and the charge 
read over him. The counsel representing the police 
gave an abstract of the case with the matter-of-fact 
air of a house-agent describing an eligible property. 
Then, when the plea of “not guilty” had been en¬ 
tered, the witnesses were called. There were only 
two, and when the name of the first, John Hornby, 
was called, I glanced towards the witness-box with 
no little curiosity. 

I had not hitherto met Mr. Hornby, and as he 
now entered the box, I saw an elderly man, tall, 
florid, and well-preserved, but strained and wild in 
expression and displaying his uncontrollable agita¬ 
tion by continual nervous movements which con¬ 
trasted curiously with the composed demeanour of 
the accused man. Neverthless, he gave his evidence 
in a perfectly connected manner, recounting the 
events connected with the discovery of the crime in 
much the same words as I had heard Mr. Lawley 
though, indeed, he was a good deal more emphatic 





90 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


than that gentleman had been in regard to the ex¬ 
cellent character borne by the prisoner. 

After him came Mr. Singleton, of the finger-print 
department at Scotland Yard, to whose evidence 
I listened with close attention. He produced the 
paper which bore the thumb-print in blood (which 
had previously been identified by Mr. Hornby) and 
a paper bearing the print, taken by himself, of the 
prisoner’s left thumb. These two thumb-prints, he 
stated, were identical in every respect. 

“And you are of opinion that the mark on the 
paper that was found in Mr. Hornby’s safe, was 
made by the prisoner’s left thumb?” the magistrate 
asked in dry and business-like tones. 

“I am certain of it.” 

“You are of opinion that no mistake is possible?” 

“No mistake is possible, your worship. It is a 
certainty.” 

The magistrate looked at Anstey inquiringly, 
whereupon the barrister rose. 

“We reserve our defence, your worship.” 

The magistrate then, in the same placid, business¬ 
like manner, committed the prisoner for trial at the 
Central Criminal Court, refusing to accept bail for 
his appearance, and, as Reuben was led forth from 
the dock, the next case was called. 

By special favour of the authorities, Reuben was 
to be allowed to make his journey to Holloway in 
a cab, thus escaping the horrors of the filthy and 
verminous prison van, and while this was being pro- 


COMMITTED FOR TRIAL 91 

cured, his friends were permitted to wish him fare¬ 
well. 

“This is a hard experience, Hornby,” said Thorn- 
dyke, when we three were, for a few moments, left 
apart from the others; and as he spoke the warmth 
of a really sympathetic nature broke through his 
habitual impassivity. “But be of good cheer; I have 
convinced myself of your innocence and have good 
hopes of convincing the world—though this is for 
your private ear, you understand, to be mentioned 
to no one.” 

Reuben wrung the hand of this “friend in need,” 
but was unable, for the moment, to speak; and, as 
his self-control was evidently strained to the break¬ 
ing point, Thorndyke, with a man’s natural instinct, 
wished him a hasty good-bye, and passing his hand 
through my arm, turned away. 

“I wish it had been possible to save the poor 
fellow from this delay, and especially from the 
degradation of being locked up in jail,” he exclaimed 
regretfully as we walked down the street. 

“There is surely no degradation in being merely 
accused of a crime,” I answered, without much con¬ 
viction, however. “It may happen to the best of 
us; and he is still an innocent man in the eyes of the 
law.” 

“That, my dear Jervis, you know, as well as I do, 
to be mere casuistry,” he rejoined. “The law pro¬ 
fesses to regard the uncorivicted man as innocent; 
but how does it treat him? You heard how the 


92 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


magistrate addressed our friend; outside the court 
he would have called him Mr. Hornby. You know 
what will happen to Reuben at Holloway. He will 
be ordered about by warders, will have a number 
label fastened on to his coat, he will be locked in 
a cell with a spy-hole in the door, through which 
any passing stranger may watch him; his food will 
be handed to him in a tin pan with a tin knife and 
spoon; and he will be periodically called out of his 
cell and driven round the exercise yard with a mob 
composed, for the most part, of the sweepings of the 
London slums. If he is acquitted, he will be turned 
loose without a suggestion of compensation or apol¬ 
ogy for these indignities or the losses he may have 
sustained through his detention.” 

“Still I suppose these evils are unavoidable,” I 
said. 

“That may or may not be,” he retorted. “My 
point is that the presumption of innocence is a pure 
fiction; that the treatment of an accused man, from 
the moment of his arrest, is that of a criminal. How¬ 
ever,” he concluded, hailing a passing hansom, “this 
discussion must be adjourned or I shall be late at 
the hospital. What are you going to do?” 

“I shall get some lunch and then call on Miss Gib¬ 
son to let her know the real position.” 

“Yes, that will be kind, I think; baldly stated, 
the news may seem rather alarming. I was tempted 
to thrash the case out in the police court, but it would 
not have been safe. He would almost certainly have 


COMMITTED FOR TRIAL 


93 


been committed for trial after all, and then we 
should have shown our hand to the prosecution.” 

He sprang into the hansom and was speedily 
swallowed up in the traffic, while I turned back 
towards the police court to make certain inquiries 
concerning the regulations as to visitors at Holloway 
prison. At the door I met the friendly inspector 
from Scotland Yard, who gave me the necessary 
information, whereupon with a certain homely little 
French restaurant in my mind I bent my steps in 
the direction of Soho. 


CHAPTER VII 

SHOALS AND QUICKSANDS 

W HEN I arrived at Endsley Gardens, Miss 
Gibson was at home, and to my unspeak¬ 
able relief, Mrs. Hornby was not. My 
veneration for that lady’s moral qualities was ex¬ 
cessive, but her conversation drove me to the verge 
of insanity—an insanity not entirely free from homi¬ 
cidal tendencies. 

“It is good of you to come—though I thought 
you would,” Miss Gibson said impulsively, as we 
shook hands. “You have been so sympathetic and 
human—both you and Dr. Thorndyke-—so free 
from professional stiffness. My aunt went off to 
see Mr. Lawley directly we got Walter’s telegram.” 

“I am sorry for her,” I said (and was on the point 
of adding “and him,” but fortunately a glimmer of 
sense restrained me) ; “she will find him dry 
enough.” 

“Yes; I dislike him extremely. Do you know 
that he had the impudence to advise Reuben to plead 
‘guilty’?” 


94 


SHOALS AND QUICKSANDS 


95 


“He told us he had done so, and got a well- 
deserved snubbing from Thorndyke for his pains.” 

“I am so glad,” exclaimed Miss Gibson viciously. 
“But tell me what has happened. Walter simply 
said ‘Transferred to higher court,’ which we agreed 
was to mean, ‘Committed for trial.’ Has the de¬ 
fence failed? And where is Reuben?” 

“The defence is reserved. Dr. Thorndyke con¬ 
sidered it almost certain that the case would be sent 
for trial, and that being so, decided that it was 
essential to keep the prosecution in the dark as to 
the line of defence. You see, if the police knew 
what the defence was to be they could revise their 
own plans accordingly.” 

“I see that,” said she dejectedly, “but I am dread¬ 
fully disappointed. I had hoped that Dr. Thorn¬ 
dyke would get the case dismissed. What has 
happened to Reuben?” 

This was the question that I had dreaded, and 
now that I had to answer it I cleared my throat and 
bent my gaze nervously on the floor. 

“The magistrate refused bail,” I said after an 
uncomfortable pause. 

“Well?” 

“Consequently Reuben has been—er—detained 
in custody.” 

“You don’t mean to say that they have sent him 
to prison?” she exclaimed breathlessly. 

“Not as a convicted prisoner, you know. He is 
merely detained pending his trial.” 




96 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“But in prison?” 

“Yes,” I was forced to admit; “in Holloway 
prison.” 

She looked me stonily in the face for some 
seconds, pale and wide-eyed, but silent; then, with a 
sudden catch in her breath, she turned away, and, 
grasping the edge of the mantel-shelf, laid her head 
upon her arm and burst into a passion of sobbing. 

Now I am not, in general, an emotional man, nor 
even especially impulsive; but neither am I a stock 
or a stone or an effigy of wood; which I most surely 
must have been if I could have looked without being 
deeply moved on the grief, so natural and unselfish, 
of this strong, brave, loyal-hearted woman. In 
effect, I moved to her side and, gently taking in mine 
the hand that hung down, murmured some inco¬ 
herent words of consolation in a particularly husky 
voice. 

Presently she recovered herself somewhat and 
softly withdrew her hand, as she turned towards me 
drying her eyes. 

“You must forgive me for distressing you, as I 
fear I have,” she said; “for you are so kind, and 
I feel that you are really my friend and Reuben’s.” 

“I am indeed, dear Miss Gibson,” I replied, “and 
so, I assure you, is my colleague.” 

“I am sure of it,” she rejoined. “But I was so 
unprepared for this—I cannot say why, excepting 
that I trusted so entirely in Dr. Thorndyke—and it 
is so horrible and, above all, so dreadfully sug- 


SHOALS AND QUICKSANDS 


97 


gestive of what may happen. Up to now the whole 
thing has seemed like a nightmare—terrifying, but 
yet unreal. But now that he is actually in prison it 
has suddenly become a dreadful reality and I am 
overwhelmed with terror. Oh! poor boy! What 
will become of him? For pity’s sake, Dr. Jervis, 
tell me what is going to happen.” 

What could I do? I had heard Thorndyke’s 
words of encouragement to Reuben and knew my 
colleague well enough to feel sure that he meant all 
he had said. Doubtless my proper course would 
have been to keep my own counsel and put Miss Gib¬ 
son off with cautious ambiguities. But I could not; 
she was worthy of more confidence than that. 

“You must not be unduly alarmed about the 
future,” I said. “I have it from Dr. Thorndyke that 
he is convinced of Reuben’s innocence, and is hopeful 
of being able to make it clear to the world. But I 
did not have this to repeat,” I added, with a slight 
qualm of conscience. 

“I know,” she said softly, “and I thank you from 
my heart.” 

“And as to this present misfortune,” I continued, 
“you must not let it distress you too much. Try 
to think of it as of a surgical operation which is a 
dreadful thing in itself, but is accepted in lieu of 
something which is immeasurably more dreadful.” 

“I will try to do as you tell me,” she answered 
meekly; “but it is so shocking to think of a cultivated 
gentleman like Reuben, herded with common thieves 


98 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


and murderers, and locked in a cage like some wild 
animal. Think of the ignominy and degradation!” 

“There is no ignominy in being wrongfully ac¬ 
cused,” I said—a little guiltily, I must own, for 
Thorndyke’s words came back to me with all their 
force. But regardless of this I went on: “An ac¬ 
quittal will restore him to his position with an un¬ 
strained character, and nothing but the recollection 
of a passing inconvenience to look back upon.” 

She gave her eyes a final wipe, and resolutely put 
away her handkerchief. 

“You have given me back my courage,” she said, 
“and chased away my terror. I cannot tell you how 
I feel your goodness, nor have I any thank-offering 
to make, except the promise to be brave and patient 
henceforth, and trust in you entirely.” 

She said this with such a grateful smile, and 
looked withal so sweet and womanly that I was 
seized with an overpowering impulse to take her in 
my arms. Instead of this I said with conscious 
feebleness: “I am more than thankful to have been 
able to give you any encouragement—which you 
must remember comes from me second-hand, after 
all. It is to Dr. Thorndyke that we all look for 
ultimate deliverance.” 

“I know. But it is you who came to comfort me 
in my trouble, so, you see, the honours are divided— 
and not divided quite equally, I fear, for women are 
unreasoning creatures, as, no doubt, your experience 
has informed you. I think I hear my aunt’s voice, 


SHOALS AND QUICKSANDS 


99 


so you had better escape before your retreat is cut 
off. But before you go, you must tell me how and 
when I can see Reuben. I want to see him at the 
earliest possible moment. Poor fellow I He must 
not be allowed to feel that his friends have forgotten 
him even for a single instant.” 

“You can see him to-morrow, if you like,” I said; 
and, casting my good resolutions to the winds, I 
added: “I shall be going to see him myself, and 
perhaps Dr. Thorndyke will go.” 

“Would you let me call at the Temple and go with 
you? Should I be much in the way? It is rather 
an alarming thing to go to a prison alone.” 

“It is not to be thought of,” I answered. “If 
you will call at the Temple—it is on the way—we 
can drive to Holloway together. I suppose you are 
resolved to go? It will be rather unpleasant, as you 
are probably aware.” 

“I am quite resolved. What time shall I come to 
the Temple?” 

“About two o’clock, if that will suit you.” 

“Very well. I will be punctual; and now you must 
go or you will be caught.” 

She pushed me gently towards the door and, hold¬ 
ing out her hand, said— 

“I haven’t thanked you half enough and I never 
can. Good-bye!” 

She was gone, and I stood alone in the street, up 
which yellowish wreaths of fog were beginning to 
roll. It had been quite clear and bright when I 


100 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


entered the house, but now the sky was settling down 
into a colourless grey, the light was failing and the 
houses dwindling into dim, unreal shapes that van¬ 
ished at half their height. Nevertheless I stepped 
out briskly and strode along at a good pace, as a 
young man is apt to do when his mind is in somewhat 
of a ferment. In truth, I had a good deal to occupy 
my thoughts and, as will often happen both to young 
men and old, those matters that bore most directly 
upon my own life and prospects were the first to 
receive attention. 

What sort of relations were growing up between 
Juliet Gibson and me? And what was my position? 
As to hers, it seemed plain enough; she was wrapped 
up in Reuben Hornby and I was her very good 
friend because I was his. But for myself, there was 
no disguising the fact that I was beginning to take an 
interest in her that boded ill for my peace of mind. 

Never had I met a woman who so entirely real¬ 
ised my conception of what a woman should be, nor 
one who exercised so great a charm over me. Her 
strength and dignity, her softness and dependency, 
to say nothing of her beauty, fitted her with the 
necessary weapons for my complete and utter sub¬ 
jugation. And utterly subjugated I was—there was 
no use in denying the fact, even though I realised al¬ 
ready that the time would come when she would 
want me no more and there would remain no remedy 
for me but to go away and try to forget her. 

But was I acting as a man of honour? To this I 


SHOALS AND QUICKSANDS 101 


felt I could fairly answer “yes,” for I was but doing 
my duty, and could hardly act differently if I wished 
to. Besides, I was jeopardising no one’s happiness 
but my own, and a man may do as he pleases with 
his own happiness. No; even Thorndyke could not 
accuse me of dishonourable conduct. 

Presently my thoughts took a fresh turn and I 
began to reflect upon what I had heard concerning 
Mr. Hornby. Here was a startling development, 
indeed, and I wondered what difference it would 
make in Thorndyke’s hypothesis of the crime. What 
his theory was I had never been able to guess, but as 
I walked along through the thickening fog I tried 
to fit this new fact into our collection of data and 
determine its bearings and significance. 

In this, for a time, I failed utterly. The red 
thumb-mark filled my field of vision to the exclusion 
of all else. To me, as to everyone else but Thorn- 
dyke, this fact was final and pointed to a conclusion 
that was unanswerable. But as I turned the story of 
the crime over and over, there came to me presently 
an idea that set in motion a new and very startling 
train of thought. 

Could Mr. Hornby himself be the thief? His 
failure appeared sudden to the outside world, but 
he must have seen difficulties coming. There, in¬ 
deed, was the thumb-mark on the leaf which he had 
torn from his pocket-block. Yes! but who had seen 
him tear it off? No one. The fact rested on his 
bare statement. 


102 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


But the thumb-mark? Well, it was possible 
(though unlikely)—still possible—that the mark 
might have been made accidentally on some previous 
occasion and forgotten by Reuben, or even un¬ 
noticed. Mr. Hornby had seen the “Thumbograph,” 
in fact his own mark was on it, and so would have 
had his attention directed to the importance of 
finger-prints in identification. He might have kept 
the marked paper, for future use, and, on the occa¬ 
sion of the robbery, pencilled a dated inscription on 
it, and slipped it into the safe as a sure means of 
diverting suspicion. All this was improbable in the 
highest degree, but then so was every other explana¬ 
tion of the crime; and as to the unspeakable baseness 
of the deed, what action is too base for a gambler in 
difficulties? 

I was so much excited and elated by my own in¬ 
genuity in having formed an intelligible and prac¬ 
ticable theory of the crime, that I was now impatient 
to reach home that I might impart my news to 
Thorndyke and see how they affected him. But as I 
approached the centre of the town the fog grew so 
dense that all my attention was needed to enable me 
to thread my way safely through the traffic; while 
the strange, deceptive aspect that it lent to familar 
objects and the obliteration of landmarks made my 
progress so slow that it was already past six o’clock 
when I felt my way down Middle Temple Lane and 
crept through Crown Office Row towards my col¬ 
league’s chambers. 


SHOALS AND QUICKSANDS 103 


On the doorstep I found Polton peering with 
anxious face into the blank expanse of yellow vapour. 

“The Doctor’s late, sir,” said he. “Detained by 
the fog, I expect. It must be pretty thick in the 
Borough.” 

(I may mention that, to Polton, Thorndyke was 
The Doctor. Other inferior creatures there were, 
indeed, to whom the title of “doctor” in a way, 
appertained; but they were of no account in Polton’s 
eyes. Surnames were good enough for them.) 

“Yes, it must be,” I replied, “judging by the con¬ 
dition of the Strand.” 

I entered and ascended the stairs, glad enough of 
the prospect of a warm and well-lighted room after 
my comfortless groping in the murky streets, and 
Polton, with a final glance up and down the walk 
reluctantly followed. 

“You would like some tea, sir, I expect?” said he, 
as he let me in (though I had a key of my own now). 

I thought I should, and he accordingly set about 
the preparations in his deft methodical way, but with 
an air of abstraction that was unusual with him. 

“The Doctor said he should be home by five,” he 
remarked, as he laid the tea-pot on the tray. 

“Then he is a defaulter,” I answered. “We shall 
have to water his tea.” 

“A wonderful punctual man, sir, is the Doctor,” 
pursued Polton. “Keeps his time to the minute, 
as a rule, he does.” 

“You can’t keep your time to a minute in a 


104 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


‘London Particular,’ ” I said a little impatiently, 
for I wished to be alone that I might think over 
matters, and Polton’s nervous flutterings irritated 
me somewhat. He was almost as bad as a female 
housekeeper. 

The little man evidently perceived my state of 
mind, for he stole away silently, leaving me rather 
penitent and ashamed, and, as I presently discovered 
on looking out of the window, resumed his vigil on 
the doorstep. From this coign of vantage he re¬ 
turned after a time to take away the tea-things; and 
thereafter, though it was now dark as well as foggy, 
I could hear him softly flitting up and down the stairs 
with a gloomy stealthiness that at length reduced 
me to a condition as nervously apprehensive as his 
own. 


CHAPTER VIII 

A SUSPICIOUS ACCIDENT 

T HE Temple clock had announced in soft and 
confidential tones that it was a quarter to 
seven, in which statement it was stoutly sup¬ 
ported by its colleague on our mantlepiece, and still 
there was no sign of Thorndyke. It was really a 
little strange, for he was the soul of punctuality, and 
moreover, his engagements were of such a kind as 
rendered punctuality possible. I was burning with 
impatience to impart my news to him, and this fact, 
together with the ghostly proceedings of Polton, 
worked me up to a state of nervous tension that 
rendered either rest or thought equally impossible. 
I looked out of the window at the lamp below, glar¬ 
ing redly through the fog, and then, opening the 
door, went out on to the landing to listen. 

At this moment Polton made a silent appearance 
on the stairs leading from the laboratory, giving me 
quite a start; and I was about to retire into the room 
when my ear caught the tinkle of a hansom approach¬ 
ing from Paper Buildings. 

105 


106 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


The vehicle drew nearer, and at length stopped 
opposite the house, on which Polton slid down the 
stairs with the agility of a harlequin. A few mo¬ 
ments later I heard his voice ascending from the 
hall— 

“I do hope, sir, you’re not much hurt?” 

I ran down the stairs and met Thorndyke coming 
up slowly with his right hand on Polton’s shoulder. 
His clothes were muddy, his left arm was in a sling, 
and a black handkerchief under his hat evidently 
concealed a bandage. 

“I am not really hurt at all,” Thorndyke replied 
cheerily, “though very disreputable to look at. 
Just came a cropper in the mud, Jervis,” he added, 
as he noted my dismayed expression. “Dinner and 
a clothes-brush are what I chiefly need.” Neverthe¬ 
less, he looked very pale and shaken when he came 
into the light on the landing, and he sank into his 
easy-chair in the limp manner of a man either very 
weak or very fatigued. 

“How did it happen?” I asked when Polton had 
crept on tip-toe to make ready for dinner. 

Thorndyke looked round to make sure that his 
henchman had departed, and said— 

“A queer affair, Jervis; a very odd affair indeed. 
I was coming up from the Borough, picking my way 
mighty carefully across the road on account of the 
greasy, slippery mud, and had just reached the foot 
of London Bridge when I heard a heavy lorry com¬ 
ing down the slope a good deal too fast, considering 


A SUSPICIOUS ACCIDENT 


107 


that it was impossible to see more than a dozen yards 
ahead, and I stopped on the kerb to see it safely 
past. Just as the horses emerged from the fog, a 
man came up behind and lurched violently against 
me and, strangely enough, at the same moment 
passed his foot in front of mine. Of course I went 
sprawling into the road right in front of the lorry. 
The horses came stamping and sliding straight on to 
me, and, before I could wriggle out of the way, the 
hoof of one of them smashed in my hat—that was a 
new one that I came home in—and half-stunned me. 
Then the near wheel struck my head, making a dirty 
little scalp wound, and pinned down my sleeve so 
that I couldn’t pull away my arm, which is conse¬ 
quently barked all the way down. It was a mighty 
near thing, Jervis; another inch or two and I should 
have been rolled out as flat as a starfish.” 

“What became of the man?” I asked, wishing I 
could have had a brief interview with him. 

“Lost to sight though to memory dear: he was 
off like a lamplighter. An alcoholic apple-woman 
picked me up and escorted me back to the hospital. 
It must have been a touching spectacle,” he added, 
with a dry smile at the recollection. 

“And I suppose they kept you there for a time to 
recover?” 

“Yes; I went into dry dock in the O. P. room, 
and then old Langdale insisted on my lying down for 
an hour or so in case any symptoms of concussion 


108 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


should appear. But I was only a trifle shaken and 
confused. Still, it was a queer affair.” 

“You mean the man pushing you down in that 
way?” 

“Yes; I can’t make out how his foot got in front 
of mine.” 

“You don’t think it was intentional, surely?” I 
said. 

“No, of course not,” he replied, but without much 
conviction, as it seemed to me; and I was about to 
pursue the matter when Polton reappeared, and my 
friend abruptly changed the subject. 

After dinner I recounted my conversation with 
Walter Hornby, watching my colleague’s face with 
some eagerness to see what effect this new inform¬ 
ation would produce on him. The result was, on the 
whole, disappointing. He was interested, keenly 
interested, but showed no symptoms of excitement. 

“So John Hornby has been plunging in mines, 
eh?” he said, when I had finished. “He ought to 
know better at his age. Did you learn how long he 
had been in difficulties?” 

“No. But it can hardly have been quite sudden 
and unforeseen.” 

“I should think not,” Thorndyke agreed. “A 
sudden slump often proves disastrous to the regular 
Stock Exchange gambler who is paying differences 
on large quantities of unpaid-for stock. But it looks 
as if Hornby had actually bought and paid for these 
mines, treating them as investments rather than 


A SUSPICIOUS ACCIDENT 


109 


speculations, in which case the depreciation would 
not have affected him in the same way. It would 
be interesting to know for certain.” 

“It might have a considerable bearing on the 
present case, might it not?” 

“Undoubtedly,” said Thorndyke. “It might bear 
on the case in more ways than one. But you have 
some special point in your mind, I think.” 

“Yes. I was thinking that if these embarrass¬ 
ments had been growing up gradually for some time, 
they might have already assumed an acute form at 
the time of the robbery.” 

“That is well considered,” said my colleague. 
“But what is the special bearing on the case suppos¬ 
ing it was so?” 

“On the supposition,” I replied, “that Mr. Horn¬ 
by was in actual pecuniary difficulties at the date 
of the robbery, it seems to me possible to construct 
a hypothesis as to the identity of the robber.” 

“I should like to hear that hypothesis stated,” 
said Thorndyke, rousing himself and regarding me 
with lively interest. 

“It is a highly improbable one,” I began with some 
natural shyness at the idea of airing my wits before 
this master of inductive method, “in fact, it is al¬ 
most fantastic.” 

“Never mind that,” said he. “A sound thinker 
gives equal consideration to the probable and the 
improbable.” 

Thus encouraged, I proceeded to set forth the 


110 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


theory of the crime as it had occurred to me on my 
way home in the fog, and I was gratified to observe 
the close attention with which Thorndyke listened, 
and his little nods of approval at each point that I 
made. 

When I had finished, he remained silent for some 
time, looking thoughtfully into the fire and evidently 
considering how my theory and the new T facts on 
which it was based would fit in with the rest of the 
data. At length he spoke, without, however, remov- 
ign his eyes from the red embers— 

“This theory of yours, Jervis, does great credit 
to your ingenuity. We may disregard the improba¬ 
bility, seeing that the alternative theories are almost 
equally improbable, and the fact that emerges, and 
that gratifies me more than I can tell you, is that 
you are gifted with enough scientific imagination 
to construct a possible train of events. Indeed, the 
improbability—combined, of course, with possibility 
—really adds to the achievement, for the dullest 
mind can perceive the obvious—as, for instance, 
the importance of a finger-print. You have really 
done a great thing, and I congratulate you; for you 
have emancipated yourself, at least to some extent, 
from the great finger-print obsession, which has 
possessed the legal mind ever since Galton published 
his epoch-making monograph. In that work I re¬ 
member he states that a finger-print affords evidence 
requiring no corroboration—a most dangerous and 
misleading statement which has been fastened upon 


A SUSPICIOUS ACCIDENT 


111 


eagerly by the police, who have naturally been de¬ 
lighted at obtaining a sort of magic touchstone by 
which they are saved the labour of investigation. 
But there is no such thing as a single fact that 
‘affords evidence requiring no corroboration.’ As 
well might one expect to make a syllogism with a 
single premise.” 

“I suppose they would hardly go so far as that,” 
I said, laughing. 

“No,” he admitted. “But the kind of syllogism 
that they do make is this— 

“ ‘The crime was committed by the person who 
made this finger-print. 

“ ‘But John Smith is the person who made the 
finger-print. 

“ ‘Therefore the crime was committed by John 
Smith.’ ” 

“Well, that is a perfectly good syllogism, isn’t 
it?” I asked. 

“Perfectly,” he replied. “But, you see, it begs 
the whole question, which is, ‘Was the crime com¬ 
mitted by the person who made this finger-print?’ 
That is where the corroboration is required.” 

“That practically leaves the case to be investi¬ 
gated without reference to the finger-print, which 
thus becomes of no importance.” 

“Not at all,” rejoined Thorndyke; “the finger¬ 
print is a most valuable clue as long as its evidential 
value is not exaggerated. Take our present case, 
for instance. Without the thumb-print, the robbery 


112 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


might have been committed by anybody; there is 
no clue whatever. But the existence of the thumb¬ 
print narrows the inquiry down to Reuben or some 
person having access to his finger-prints.” 

“Yes, I see. Then you consider my theory of 
John Hornby as the perpetrator of the robbery as 
quite a tenable one?” 

“Quite,” replied Thorndyke. “I have entertained 
it from the first; and the new facts that you have 
gathered increase its probability. You remember 
I said that four hypotheses were possible: that the 
robbery was committed either by Reuben, by Walter, 
by John Hornby, or by some other person. Now, 
putting aside the ‘some other person’ for considera¬ 
tion only if the first three hypotheses fail, we have 
left, Reuben, Walter, and John. But if we leave 
the thumb-print out of the question, the probabili¬ 
ties evidently point to John Hornby, since he, ad¬ 
mittedly, had access to the diamonds, whereas there 
is nothing to show that the others had. The thumb¬ 
print, however, transfers the suspicion to Reuben; 
but yet, as your theory makes evident, it does not 
completely clear John Hornby. As the case stands, 
the balance of probabilities may be stated thus: John 
Hornby undoubtedly had access to the diamonds, 
and therefore might have stolen them. But if the 
thumb-mark was made after he closed the safe and 
before he opened it again, some other person must 
have had access to them, and was probably the thief. 

“The thumb-mark is that of Reuben Hornby, a 


A SUSPICIOUS ACCIDENT 


113 


fact that establishes a prima facie probability that 
he stole the diamonds. But there is no evidence that 
he had access to them, and if he had not, he could 
not have made the thumb-mark in the manner and 
at the time stated. 

“But John Hornby may have had access to the 
previously-made thumb-mark of Reuben, and may 
possibly have obtained it; in which case he is almost 
certainly the thief. 

“As to Walter Hornby, he may have had the 
means of obtaining Reuben’s thumb-mark; but there 
is no evidence that he had access either to the dia¬ 
monds or to Mr. Hornby’s memorandum block. 
The prima facie probabilities in his case, therefore, 
are very slight.” 

“The actual points at issue, then,” I said, “are, 
whether Reuben had any means of opening the safe, 
and whether Mr. Hornby ever did actually have the 
opportunity of obtaining Reuben’s thumb-mark in 
blood on his memorandum block.” 

“Yes,” replied Thorndyke. “Those are the 
points—with some others—and they are likely to 
remain unsettled. Reuben’s rooms have been 
searched by the police, who failed to find any skel¬ 
eton or duplicate keys; but this proves nothing, as he 
would probably have made away with them when he 
heard of the thumb-mark being found. As to the 
other matter, I have asked Reuben, and he has no 
recollection of ever having made a thumb-mark in 
blood. So there the matter rests.” 


114 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“And what about Mr. Hornby’s liability for the 
diamonds?” 

“I think we may dismiss that,” answered Thorn- 
dyke. “He had undertaken no liability and there 
was no negligence. He would not be liable at law.” 

After my colleague retired, which he did quite 
early, I sat for a long time pondering upon this 
singular case in which I found myself involved. And 
the more I thought about it the more puzzled I be¬ 
came. If Thorndyke had no more satisfactory ex¬ 
planation to offer than that which he had given me 
this evening, the defence was hopeless, for the court 
was not likely to accept his estimate of the evidential 
value of finger-prints. Yet he had given Reuben 
something like a positive assurance that there would 
be an adequate defence, and had expressed his own 
positive conviction of the accused man’s innocence. 
But Thorndyke was not a man to reach such a con¬ 
viction through merely sentimental considerations. 
The inevitable conclusion was that he had something 
up his sleeve—that he had gained possession of some 
facts that had escaped my observation; and when I 
had reached this point I knocked out my pipe and 
betook myself to bed. 


CHAPTER IX 

THE PRISONER 

O N the following morning, as I emerged from 
my room, I met Polton coming up with a 
tray (our bed-rooms were on the attic floor 
above the laboratory and workshop), and I accord¬ 
ingly followed him into my friend’s chamber. 

“I shan’t go out to-day,” said Thorndyke, 
“though I shall come down presently. It is very in¬ 
convenient, but one must accept the inevitable. I 
have had a knock on the head, and, although I feel 
none the worse, I must take the proper precautions 
—rest and a low diet—until I see that no results are 
going to follow. You can attend to the scalp wound 
and send round the necessary letters, can’t you?” 

I expressed my willingness to do all that was 
required and applauded my friend’s self-control and 
good sense; indeed, I could not help contrasting the 
conduct of this busy, indefatigable man cheerfully 
resigning himself to most distasteful inaction, with 
the fussy behavior of the ordinary patient who, with 
nothing of importance to do, can hardly be prevailed 
115 


116 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


upon to rest, no matter how urgent the necessity. 
Accordingly, I breakfasted alone, and spent the 
morning in writing and despatching letters to the 
various persons who were expecting visits from my 
colleague. 

Shortly after lunch (a very spare one, by the way, 
for Polton appeared to include me in the scheme 
of reduced diet) my expectant ear caught the tinkle 
of a hansom approaching down Crown Office Row. 

“Here comes your fair companion,” said Thorn- 
dyke, whom I had acquainted with my arrangements, 
“Tell Hornby, from me, to keep up his courage, and, 
for yourself, bear my warning in mind. I should be 
sorry indeed if you ever had cause to regret that 
you had rendered me the very valuable services for 
which I am now indebted to you. Good-bye; don’t 
keep her waiting.” 

I ran down the stairs and came out of the entry 
just as the cabman had pulled up and flung open 
the doors. 

“Holloway Prison—main entrance,” I said, as I 
stepped up on to the footboard. 

“There ain’t no back door there, sir,” the man 
responded, with a grin; and I was glad that neither 
the answer nor the grin was conveyed to my fellow- 
passenger. 

“You are very punctual, Miss Gibson,” I said. 
“It is not half-past one yet.” 

“Yes; I thought I should like to get there by two, 


THE PRISONER 117 

so as to have as long a time with him as is possible 
without shortening your interview.” 

I looked at my companion critically. She was 
dressed with rather more than her usual care, and 
looked, in fact, a very fine lady indeed. This circum¬ 
stance, which I noted at first with surprise and then 
with decided approbation, caused me some inward 
discomfort, for I had in my mind a very distinct and 
highly disagreeable picture of the visiting arrange¬ 
ments at a local prison in one of the provinces, at 
which I had acted temporarily as medical officer. 

“I suppose,” I said at length, “it is of no use for 
me to re-open the question of the advisability of this 
visit on your part?” 

“Not the least,” she replied resolutely, “though 
I understand and appreciate your motive in wishing 
to do so.” 

“Then,” said I, “if you are really decided, it will 
be as well for me to prepare you for the ordeal. I 
am afraid it will give you a terrible shock.” 

“Indeed?” said she. “Is it so bad? Tell me 
what it will be like.” 

“In the first place,” I replied, “you must keep 
in your mind the purpose of a prison like Holloway. 
We are going to see an innocent man—a cultivated 
and honourable gentleman. But the ordinary in¬ 
mates of Holloway are not innocent men; for the 
most part, the remand cases on the male side are 
professional criminals, while the women are either 
petty offenders or chronic inebriates. Most of them 


118 THE RED THUMB MARK 

are regular customers at the prison—such is the 
idiotic state of the law—who come into the recepQ 
tion-room like travellers entering a familiar hostelry, 
address the prison officers by name and demand the 
usual privileges and extra comforts—the ‘drunks/ 
for instance, generally ask for a dose of bromide to 
steady their nerves and a light in the cell to keep 
away the horrors. And such being the character of 
the * inmates, their friends who visit them are 
naturally of the same type—the lowest outpourings 
of the slums; and it is not surprising to find that the 
arrangements of the prison are made to fit its ordi¬ 
nary .inmates. The innocent man is a negligible 
quantity, and no arrangement are made for him or 
his visitors.” 

“But shall we not be taken to Reuben’s cell?” 
asked Miss Gibson. 

“Bless you! no,” I answered; and, defermined to 
give her every inducement to change her mind, I 
continued: “I will describe the procedure as I have 
seen it—and a very dreadful and shocking sight I 
found it, I can tell you. It was while I was acting 
as a prison doctor in the Midlands that I had this 
experience. I was going i»y round one morning 
when, passing along a passage, I became aware of a 
strange, muffled roar from the o^her side of the wall. 

“ ‘What is that noise?’ I asked the warder who 
was with me. 

“ ‘prisoners seeing their friends/ he answered. 
‘Like to have a look at them, sir?’ 


THE PRISONER 


119 


“He unlocked a small door and, as he threw it 
open, the distant, muffled sound swelled into a^ieaf- 
ening roar. I passed through the door and found 
myself in a narrow alley at one end of which a 
warder was sitting. The sides of the alley were 
formed by two immense cages with stout wire bars, 
one for the prisoners and the other for the visitors; 
and each cage was lined with faces and hands, all in 
incessant movement, the faces mouthing and grimac¬ 
ing, and the hands clawing restlessly at the bars. 
The uproar was so terrific that no single voice could 
be distinguished, though every one present was 
shouting his loudest to make himself heard above 
the universal din. The result was a very strange 
and horrid illusion, for 1 it seemed as if no oneMvas 
speaking at all, but that the noise came from outside, 
and that each one of the faces—low, vicious faces, 
mostly—w^ silently grimacing and gibbering, snap¬ 
ping its jawskand glaring furiously at the occupants 
of the opposite cage. It was a frightful spectacle. 
I could think of nothing but the monkey-house at the 
Zoo. It seemed as if one ought to walk up the alley 
and offer nuts and pieces of paper to be torn to 
pieces.” 

“Horrible!” exclaimed Miss Gibson. “And do 
you mean to say th$t we shall be turned loose into 
one of these cages with a herd of other visitors?” 

“No. You are not turned loose anywhere^ in a 
prison. The arrangement is this: each cage is 
divided by partitions into a number of%mall jbtaxes 


120 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


or apartments, which are numbered. The prisoner 
is locked in one box and his visitor in the correspond¬ 
ing box opposite. They are thus confronted, with 
the width of the alley between them; they can see 
one another and talk but cannot pass any forbidden 
articles across—a very necessary precaution, I need 
hardly say.” 

“Yes, I suppose it is necessary, but it is horrible 
for decent people. Surely they ought to be able to 
discriminate.” 

“Why not give it up and let me take a message 
to Reuben? He would understand and be thankful 
to me for dissuading you.” 

“No, no,” she said quickly; “the more repulsive 
it is the greater the necessity for me to go. He must 
not be allowed to think that a trifling inconvenience 
or indignity is enough to scare his friends away. 
What building is that ahead?” 

We had just swung round from Caledonian Road 
into a quiet and prosperous-looking suburban street, 
at the end of which rose the tower of a castellated 
building. 

“That is the prison,” I replied. “We are looking 
at it from the most advantageous point of view; seen 
from the back, and especially from the inside, it is 
a good deal less attractive.” 

Nothing more was said until the cab drove into 
the courtyard and set us down outside the great 
front gates. Having directed the cabman to wait 
for us, I rang the bell and we were speedily admitted 


THE PRISONER 121 

through a wicket (which was immediately closed and 
locked) into a covered court closed in by a second 
gate, through the bars of which we could see across 
an inner courtyard to the actual entrance to the 
prison. Here while the necessary formalities were 
gone through, we found ourselves part of a num¬ 
erous and very motley company, for a considerable 
assemblage of the prisoners’ friends was awaiting 
the moment of admission. I noticed that my com¬ 
panion was observing our fellow-visitors with a kind 
of horrified curiosity, which she strove, however, and 
not unsuccessfully, to conceal; and certainly the ap¬ 
pearance of the majority furnished eloquent testi¬ 
mony to the failure of crime as a means of worldly 
advancement. Their present position was pro¬ 
ductive of very varied emotions; some were silent 
and evidently stricken with grief; a larger number 
were voluble and excited, while a considerable pro¬ 
portion were quite cheerful and even inclined to be 
facetious. 

At length the great iron gate was unlocked and 
our party taken in charge by a warder, who con¬ 
ducted us to that part of the building known as “the 
wing”; and, in the course of our progress, I could 
not help observing the profound impression made 
upon my companion by the circumstance that every 
door had to be unlocked to admit us and was locked 
again as soon as we had passed through. 

“It seems to me,” I said, as we neared our destina¬ 
tion, “that you had better let me see Reuben first; 


122 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


I have not much to say to him and shall not keep you 
waiting long.” 

“Why do you think so?” she asked, with a shade 
of suspicion. 

“Well,” I answered, “I think you may be a little 
upset by the interview, and I should like to see you 
into your cab as soon as possible afterwards.” 

“Yes,” she said; “perhaps you are right, and it 
is kind of you to be so thoughtful on my account.” 

A minute later, accordingly, I found myself shut 
into a narrow box, like one of those which consider¬ 
ate pawnbrokers provide for their more diffident 
clients, and in a similar, but more intense, degree, 
pervaded by a subtle odour of uncleanness. The 
woodwork was polished to an unctuous smoothness 
by the friction of numberless dirty hands and soiled 
garments, and the general appearance—taken in at 
a glance as I entered—was such as to cause me to 
thrust my hands into my pockets and studiously 
avoid contact with any part of the structure but the 
floor. The end of the box opposite the door was 
closed in by a strong grating of wire—excepting the 
lower three feet, which was of wood—and looking 
through this, I perceived, behind a second grating, 
Reuben Hornby, standing in a similar attitude to 
my own. He was dressed in his usual clothes and 
with his customary neatness, but his face was un¬ 
shaven and he wore, suspended from a button-hole, 
a circular label bearing the characters “B.31”; and 
these two changes in his exterior carried with them 


THE PRISONER 


123 


a suggestiveness as subtle as it was unpleasant, mak¬ 
ing me more than ever regretful that Miss Gibson 
had insisted on coming. 

“It is exceedingly good of you, Dr. Jervis, to come 
and see me,” he said heartily, making himself heard 
quite easily, to my surprise, above the hubbub of 
the adjoining boxes; “but I didn’t expect you here. 
I was told I could see my legal advisors in the 
solicitor’s box.” 

“So you could,” I answered. “But I came here by 
choice because I have brought Miss Gibson with 
me.” 

“I am sorry for that,” he rejoined, with evident 
disapproval; “she oughtn’t to have come among 
these riff-raff.” 

“I told her so, and that you wouldn’t like it, but 
she insisted.” 

“I know,” said Reuben. “That’s the worst of 
women—they will make a beastly fuss and sacrifice 
themselves when nobody wants them to. But I 
mustn’t be ungratful; she means it kindly, and she’s 
a deuced good sort, is Juliet.” 

“She is indeed,” I exclaimed, not a little disgusted 
at his cool, unappreciative tone; “a most noble- 
hearted girl, and her devotion to you is positively 
heroic.” 

The faintest suspicion of a smile appeared on the 
face seen through the double grating; on which I 
felt that I could have pulled his nose with pleasure— 


124 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


only that a pair of tongs of special construction 
would have been required for the purpose. 

“Yes,” he answered calmly, “we have always been 
very good friends.” 

A rejoinder of the most extreme acidity was on my 
lips. Damn the fellow! What did he mean by 
speaking in that supercilious tone of the loveliest 
and sweetest woman in the world? But, after all, 
one cannot trample on a poor devil locked up in a 
jail on a false charge, no matter how great may be 
the provocation. I drew a deep breath, and, having 
recovered myself, outwardly at least, said— 

“I hope you don’t find the conditions here too in¬ 
tolerable?” 

“Oh, no,” he answered. “It’s beastly unpleasant, 
of course, but it might easily be worse. I don’t mind 
if it’s only for a week or two; and I am really en¬ 
couraged by what Dr. Thorndyke said. I hope he 
wasn’t being merely soothing.” 

“You may take it that he was not. What he said, 
I am sure he meant. Of course, you know I am not 
in his confidence—nobody is—but I gather that he 
is satisfied with the defence he is preparing.” 

“If he is satified, I am,” said Reuben, “and, in 
any case, I shall owe him an immense debt of grati¬ 
tude for having stood by me and believed in me when 
all the world—except my aunt and Juli it—had con¬ 
demned me.” 

He then went on to give me a few particulars of 
his prison life, and when he had chatted for a 


THE PRISONER 125 

quarter of an hour or so, I took my leave to make 
way for Miss Gibson. 

Her interview with him was not as long as I had 
expected, though, to be sure, the conditions were not 
very favourable either for the exchange of con¬ 
fidences or for utterances of a sentimental character. 
The consciousness that one’s conversation could be 
overheard by the occupants of adjacent boxes de¬ 
stroyed all sense of privacy, to say nothing of the 
disturbing influence of the warder in the alley-way. 

When she rejoined me, her manner was abstracted 
and very depressed, a circumstance that gave me 
considerable food for reflection as we made our way 
in silence towards the main entrance. Had she 
found Reuben as cool and matter-of-fact as I had? 
He was assuredly a very calm and self-possessed 
lover, and it was conceivable that his reception of the 
girl, strung up, as she was, to an acute pitch of emo¬ 
tion, might have been somewhat in the nature of an 
anti-climax. And then, was it possible that the feel¬ 
ing was on her side only? Could it be that the price¬ 
less pearl of her love was cast before—I was 
tempted to use the colloquial singular and call him 
an “unappreciative swine!” The thing was almost 
unthinkable to me, and yet I was tempted to dwell 
upon it; for when a man is in love—and I could no 
longer disguise my condition from myself—he is in¬ 
clined to be humble and to gather up thankfully the 
treasure that is rejected of another. 

I was brought up short in these reflections by the 


126 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


clank of the lock in the great iron gate. We entered 
together the gloomy vestibule, and a moment later 
we were let out through the wicket into the court¬ 
yard; and as the lock clicked behind us, we gave a 
simultaneous sigh of relief to find ourselves outside 
the precincts of the prison, beyond the domain of 
bolts and bars. 

I had settled Miss Gibson in the cab and given her 
address to the driver, when I noticed her looking at 
me, as I thought, somewhat wistfully. 

“Can’t I put you down somewhere?” she said, in 
response to a half-questioning glance from me. 

I seized the opportunity with thankfulness and 
replied— 

“You might set me down at King’s Cross if it is 
not delaying you;” and giving the word to the cab¬ 
man, I took my place by her side as the cab started 
and a black-painted prison van turned into the court¬ 
yard with its freight of squalid misery. 

“I don’t think Reuben was very pleased to see 
me,” Miss Gibson remarked presently, “but I shall 
come again all the same. It is a duty I owe both to 
him and to myself.” 

I felt that I ought to endeavour to dissuade her, 
but the reflection that her visits must almost of 
necessity involve my companionship, enfeebled my 
will. I was fast approaching a state of infatuation. 

“I was so thankful,” she continued, “that you 
prepared me. It was a horrible experience to see 
the poor fellow caged like a wild beast, with that 


THE PRISONER 


127 


dreadful label hanging from his coat; but it would 
have been overwhelming if I had not known what 
to expect.” 

As we proceeded, her spirits revived somewhat, 
a circumstance that she graciously ascribed to the 
enlivening influence of my society; and I then told 
her of the mishap that had befallen my colleague. 

“What a terrible thing!” she exclaimed, with 
evidently unaffected concern. “It is the merest 
chance that he was not killed on the spot. Is he 
much hurt? And would he mind, do you think, if I 
called to inquire after him?” 

I said that I was sure he would be delighted (be¬ 
ing, as a matter of fact, entirely indifferent as to his 
sentiments on the subject in my delight at the pro¬ 
posal), and when I stepped down from the cab at 
King’s Cross to pursue my way homewards, there 
already opened out before me the prospect of the 
renewal of this bitter-sweet and all too dangerous 
companionship on the morrow. 


CHAPTER X 

POLTON IS MYSTIFIED 


COUPLE of days sufficed to prove that 



Thorndyke’s mishap was not to be produc¬ 


tive of any permanent ill consequences; his 
wounds progressed favourably and he was able to 
resume his ordinary avocations. 

Miss Gibson’s visit—but why should I speak of 
her in these formal terms? To me, when I thought 
of her, which I did only too often, she was Juliet, 
with perhaps an adjective thrown in; and as Juliet 
I shall henceforth speak of her (but without the 
adjective) in this narrative, wherein nothing has 
been kept back from the reader—Juliet’s visit, then, 
had been a great success, for my colleague was really 
pleased by the attention, and displayed a quiet 
geniality that filled our visitor with delight. 

He talked a good deal of Reuben, and I could see 
that he was endeavouring to settle in his own mind 
the vexed question of her relations with and senti¬ 
ments towards our unfortunate client; but what 
conclusions he arrived at I was unable to discover, 


POLTON IS MYSTIFIED 


129 


for he was by no means communicative after she had 
left. Nor was there any repetition of the visit— 
greatly to my regret—since, as I have said, he was 
able, in a day or two, to resume his ordinary mode 
of life. 

The first evidence I had of his renewed activity 
appeared when I returned to the chambers at about 
eleven o’clock in the morning, to find Polton hover¬ 
ing dejectedly about the sitting-room, apparently per¬ 
petrating as near an approach to a “spring clean” 
as could be permitted in a bachelor establishment. 

“Hallo, Polton!” I exclaimed, “have you con¬ 
trived to tear yourself away from the laboratory for 
an hour or two?” 

“No, sir,” he answered gloomily. “The labora¬ 
tory has torn itself away from me.” 

“What do you mean?” I asked. 

“The Doctor has shut himself in and locked the 
door, and he says I am not to disturb him. It will 
be a cold lunch to-day.” 

“What is he doing in there?” I inquired. 

“Ah!” said Polton, “that’s just what I should 
like to know. I’m fair eaten up with curiosity. He 
is making some experiments in connection with some 
of his cases, and when the Doctor locks himself in to 
make experiments, something interesting generally 
follows. I should like to know what it is this time.” 

“I suppose there is a keyhole in the laboratory 
door?” I suggested, with a grin. 

“Sir!” he exclaimed indignantly. “Dr. Jervis, 


130 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


I am surprised at you.” Then, perceiving my face¬ 
tious intent, he smiled also and added: “But there 
is a keyhole if you’d like to try it, though I’ll wager 
the Doctor would see more of you than you would 
of him.” 

“You are mighty secret about your doings, you 
and the Doctor,” I said. 

“Yes,” he answered. “You see, it’s queer trade 
this of the Doctor’s, and there are some queer secrets 
in it. Now, for instance, what do you make of 
this?” 

He produced from his pocket a leather case, 
whence he took a piece of paper which he handed to 
me. On it was a neatly executed drawing of what 
looked like one of a set of chessmen, with the dimen¬ 
sions .written on the margin. 

“It looks like a pawn—one of the Staunton 
pattern,” I said. 

“Just what I thought; but it isn’t. I’ve got to 
make twenty-four of them, and what the Doctor 
is going to do with them fairly beats me.” 

“Perhaps he has invented some new game,” I 
suggested facetiously. 

“He is always inventing new games and playing 
them mostly in courts of law, and then the other 
players generally lose. But this is a puzzler, and no 
mistake. Twenty-four of these to be turned up in 
the best-seasoned boxwood! What can they be for? 
Something to do with the experiments he is carrying 
on upstairs at this very moment, I expect.” He 


POLTON IS MYSTIFIED 


131 


shook his head, and, having carefully returned the 
drawing to his pocket-book, said, in a solemn tone 
—“Sir, there are times when the Doctor makes me 
fairly dance with curiosity. And this is one of 
them.” 

Although not afflicted with a curiosity so acute 
as that of Polton, I found myself speculating at 
intervals on the nature of my colleague’s experiments 
and the purpose of the singular little objects which 
he had ordered to be made; but I was unacquainted 
with any of the cases on which he was engaged, 
excepting that of Reuben Hornby, and with the 
latter I was quite unable to connect a set of twenty- 
four boxwood chessmen. Moreover, on this day, I 
was to accompany Juliet on her second visit to Hollo¬ 
way, and that circumstance gave me abundant mental 
occupation of another kind. 

At lunch, Thorndyke was animated and talkative 
but not communicative. He “had some work in the 
laboratory that he must do himself,” he said, but 
gave no hint as to its nature; and as soon as our meal 
was finished, he returned to his labours, leaving me 
to pace up and down the walk, listening with ridicu¬ 
lous eagerness for the sound of the hansom that was 
to transport me to the regions of the blest, and— 
incidentally—to Holloway Prison. 

When I returned to the Temple, the sitting-room 
was empty and hideously neat, as the result of 
Polton’s spring-cleaning efforts. My colleague was 
evidently still at work in the laboratory, and, from 


132 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


the circumstance that the tea-things were set out on 
the table and a kettle of water placed in readiness 
on the gas-ring by the fireplace, I gathered that 
Polton also was full of business and anxious not to 
be disturbed. 

Accordingly, I lit the gas and made my tea, en¬ 
livening my solitude by turning over in my mind the 
events of the afternoon. 

Juliet has been charming—as she always was— 
frank, friendly and unaffectedly pleased to have my 
companionship. She evidently liked me and did not 
disguise the fact—why should she indeed?—but 
treated me with a freedom, almost affectionate, as 
though I had been a favourite brother; which was 
very delightful, and would have been more so if I 
could have accepted the relationship. As to her 
feelings towards me, I had not the slightest mis¬ 
giving, and so my conscience was clear; for Juliet 
was as innocent as a child, with the innocence that 
belongs to the direct, straightforward nature that 
neither does evil itself nor looks for evil motives in 
others. For myself, I was past praying for. The 
thing was done and I must pay the price hereafter, 
content to reflect that I had trespassed against no 
one but myself. It was a miserable affair, and many 
a heartache did it promise me in the lonely days that 
were to come, when I should have said “good-bye” 
to the Temple and gone back to my old nomadic 
life; and yet I would not have had it changed if I 


POLTON IS MYSTIFIED 133 

could; would not have bartered the bitter-sweet 
memories for dull forgetfulness. 

But other matters had transpired in the course 
of our drive than those that loomed so large to me 
in the egotism of my love. We had spoken of Mr. 
Hornby and his affairs, and from our talk there had 
emerged certain facts of no little moment to the 
inquiry on which I was engaged. 

“Misfortunes are proverbially sociable,” Juliet 
had remarked, in reference to her adopted uncle. 
“As if this trouble about Reuben were not enough, 
there are worries in the city. Perhaps you have 
heard of them.” 

I replied that Walter had mentioned the matter 
to me. 

“Yes,” said Juliet rather viciously; “I am not 
quite clear as to what part that good gentleman has 
played in the matter. It has come out, quite acci¬ 
dentally, that he had a large holding in the mines 
himself, but he seems to have ‘cut his loss,’ as the 
phrase goes, and got out of them; though how he 
managed to pay such large differences is more than 
we can understand. We think he must have raised 
money somehow to do it.” 

“Do you know when the mines began to depre¬ 
ciate?” I asked. 

“Yes, it was quite a sudden affair—what Walter 
calls ‘a slump’— and it occurred only a few days 
before the robbery. Mr. Hornby was telling me 


134 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


about it only yesterday, and he recalled it to me by 
a ridiculous accident that happened on that day.” 

“What was that?” I inquired. 

“Why, I cut my finger and nearly fainted,” she 
answered, with a shamefaced little laugh. “It was 
rather a bad cut, you know, but I didn’t notice it 
until I found my hand covered with blood. Then I 
turned suddenly faint, and had to lie down on the 
hearthrug—it was in Mr. Hornby’s study, which I 
was tidying up at the time. Here I was found by 
Reuben, and a dreadful fright it gave him at first; 
and then he tore up his handkerchief to tie up the 
wounded finger, and you never saw such an awful 
mess as he got his hands in. He might have been 
arrested as a murderer, poor boy, from the condition 
he was in. It will make your professional gorge rise 
to learn that he fastened up the extemporised band¬ 
age with red tape, which he got from the writing 
table after rooting about among the sacred papers in 
the most ruthless fashion. 

“When he had gone I tried to put the things on 
the table straight again, and really you might have 
thought some horrible crime had been committed; 
the envelopes and papers were all smeared with 
blood and marked with the print of gory fingers. I 
remembered it afterwards, when Reuben’s thumb- 
mark was identified, and thought that perhaps one of 
the papers might have got into the safe by accident; 
but Mr. Hornby told me that was impossible; he 


POLTON IS MYSTIFIED 135 

tore the leaf off his memorandum block at the time 
when he put away the diamonds.” 

Such was the gist of our conversation as the cab 
rattled through the streets on the way to the prison; 
and certainly it contained matter sufficiently im¬ 
portant to draw away my thoughts from other sub¬ 
jects, more agreeable, but less relevant to the case. 
With a sudden remembrance of my duty, I drew 
forth my notebook, and was in the act of committing 
the statements to writing, when Thorndyke entered 
the room. 

“Don’t let me interrupt you, Jervis,” said he. “I 
will make myself a cup of tea while you finish your 
writing, and then you shall exhibit the day’s catch 
and hang your nets out to dry.” 

I was not long in finishing my notes, for I was in 
a fever of impatience to hear Thorndyke’s comments 
on my latest addition to our store of information. 
By the time the kettle was boiling my entries were 
completed, and I proceeded forthwith to retail to 
my colleague those extracts from my conversation 
with Juliet that I have just recorded. 

He listened, as usual, with deep and critical at¬ 
tention. 

“This is very interesting and important,” he said, 
when I had finished; “really, Jervis, you are a most 
invaluable coadjutor. It seems that information, 
which would be strictly withheld from the forbidding 
Jorkins, trickles freely and unasked into the ear of 
the genial Spenlow. Now, I suppose you regard 


136 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


your hypothesis as having received very substantial 
confirmation?” 

‘‘Certainly, I do.” 

“And very justifiably. You see now how com¬ 
pletely you were in the right when you allowed your¬ 
self to entertain this theory of the crime in spite 
of its apparent improbability. By the light of these 
new facts it has become quite a probable explanation 
of the whole affair, and if it could only be shown 
that Mr. Hornby’s memorandum block was among 
the papers on the table, it would rise to a high de¬ 
gree of probability. The obvious moral is, never 
disregard the improbable. By the way, it is odd 
that Reuben failed to recall this occurrence when I 
questioned him. Of course, the bloody finger-marks 
were not discovered until he had gone, but one 
would have expected him to recall the circumstances 
when I asked him, pointedly, if he had never left 
bloody finger-prints on any papers.” 

“I must try to find out if Mr. Hornby’s memoran¬ 
dum block was on the table and among the marked 
papers,” I said. 

“Yes, that would be wise,” he answered, “though 
I don’t suppose the information will be forth¬ 
coming.” 

My colleague’s manner rather disappointed me. 
He had heard my report with the greatest attention, 
he had discussed it with animation, but yet he seemed 
to attach to the new and—as they appeared to me—• 
highly important facts an interest that was academic 


POLTON IS MYSTIFIED 


137 


rather than practical. Of course, his calmness might 
be assumed; but this did not seem likely, for John 
Thorndyke was far too sincere and dignified a char¬ 
acter to cultivate in private life the artifices of the 
actor. To strangers, indeed, he presented habitually 
a calm and impassive exterior; but this was natural 
to him, and was but the outward sign of his even 
and judicial habit of mind. 

No; there was no doubt that my startling news 
had left him unmoved, and this must be for one of 
two reasons: either he already knew all that I had 
told him (which was perfectly possible), or he had 
some other and better means of explaining the crime. 
I was turning over these two alternatives, not unob¬ 
served by my watchful colleague, when Polton en¬ 
tered the room; a broad grin was on his face, and 
a drawing-board, that he carried like a tray, bore 
twenty-four neatly turned boxwood pieces. 

Thorndyke at once entered into the unspoken 
jest that beamed from the countenance of his sub¬ 
ordinate. 

“Here is Polton with a problem for you, Jervis,” 
he said. “He assumes that I have invented a new 
parlour game, and has been trying to work out the 
moves. Have you succeeded yet, Polton?” 

“No, sir, I haven’t; but I suspect that one of the 
players will be a man in a wig and gown.” 

“Perhaps you are right,” said Thorndyke; “but 
that doesn’t take you very far. Let us hear what 
Dr. Jervis has to say.” 


138 r THE RED THUMB MARK 


“I can make nothing of them,” I answered. 
“Polton showed me the drawing this morning, and 
then was terrified lest he had committed a breach of 
confidence, and I have been trying ever since, without 
a glimmer of success, to guess what they can be for.” 

“H’m,” grunted Thorndyke, as he sauntered up 
and down the room, teacup in hand, “to guess, eh? 
I like not that word ‘guess’ in the mouth of a man 
of science. What do you mean by a ‘guess’?” 

His manner was wholly facetious, but I professed 
to take his question seriously, and replied— 

“By a guess, I mean a conclusion arrived at with¬ 
out data.” 

“Impossible!” he exclaimed, with mock sternness. 
“Nobody but an utter fool arrives at a conclusion 
without data.” 

“Then I must revise my definition instantly,” I 
rejoined. “Let us say that a guess is a conclusion 
drawn from insufficient facts.” 

“That is better,” said he; “but perhaps it would 
be better still to say that a guess is a particular and 
definite conclusion deduced from facts which proper¬ 
ly yield only a general and indefinite one. Let us 
take an instance,” he continued. “Looking out of 
the window, I see a man walking round Paper Build¬ 
ings. Now suppose I say, after the fashion of the 
inspired detective of the romances, ‘That man is a 
stationmaster or inspector,’ that would be a guess. 
The observed facts do not yield the conclusion, 


POLTON IS MYSTIFIED 139 

though they do warrant a conclusion less definite and 
more general.” 

“You’d have been right though, sir!” exclaimed 
Polton, who had stepped forward with me to ex¬ 
amine the unconscious subject of the demonstration. 
“That gent used to be the stationmaster at Camber¬ 
well. I remember him well.” 

The little man was evidently greatly impressed. 

“I happen to be right, you see,” said Thorndyke; 
“but I might as easily have been wrong.” 

“You weren’t though, sir,” said Polton. “You 
spotted him at a glance.” 

In his admiration of the result he cared not a fig 
for the correctness of the means by which it had been 
attained. 

“Now why do I suggest that he is a station- 
master?” pursued Thorndyke, disregarding his 
assistant’s comment. 

“I suppose you were looking at his feet,” I 
answered. “I seem to have noticed that peculiar, 
splay-footed gait in stationmasters, now that you 
mention it.” 

“Quite so. The arch of the foot has given way; 
the plantar ligaments have become stretched and the 
deep calf muscles weakened. Then, since bending 
of the weakened arch causes discomfort, the feet 
have become turned outwards, by which the bending 
of the foot is reduced to a minimum; and as the left 
foot is the more flattened, so it is turned out more 
than the right. Then the turning out of the toes 


140 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


causes the legs to splay outward from the knees 
downwards—a very conspicious condition in a tall 
man like this one—and you notice that the left leg 
splays out more that the other. 

“But we know that depression of the arch of the 
foot is brought about by standing for long periods. 
Continuous pressure on a living structure weakens 
it, while intermittent pressure strengthens it; so the 
man who stands on his feet continuously develops a 
flat instep and a weak calf, while the professional 
dancer or runner acquires a high instep and a strong 
calf. Now there are many occupations which in¬ 
volve prolonged standing and so induce the condition 
of flat foot: waiters, hall-porters, hawkers, police¬ 
men, shop-walkers, salesmen, and station officials are 
examples. But the waiter’s gait is characteristic— 
a quick, shuffling walk which enables him to carry 
liquids without spilling them. This man walks with 
a long, swinging stride; he is obviously not a waiter. 
His dress and appearance in general exclude the idea 
of a hawker or even a hall-porter; he is a man of 
poor physique and so cannot be a policeman. The 
shop-walker or salesman is accustomed to move in 
relatively confined spaces, and so acquires a short, 
brisk step, and his dress tends to rather exuberant 
smartness; the station official patrols long platforms, 
often at a rapid pace, and so tends to take long 
strides, while his dress is dignified and neat rather 
than florid. The last-mentioned characteristics, you 
see, appear in the subject of our analysis; he agrees 


POLTON IS MYSTIFIED 


141 


with the general description of a stationmaster. But 
if we therefore conclude that he is a stationmaster, 
we fall into the time-honoured fallacy of the undis¬ 
tributed middle term—the fallacy that haunts all 
brilliant guessers, including the detective, not only 
of romance, but too often also of real life. All that 
the observed facts justify us in inferring is that this 
man is engaged in some mode of life that necessitates 
a good deal of standing; the rest is mere guess¬ 
work.” 

“It’s wonderful,” said Polton, gazing at the now 
distant figure; “perfectly wonderful. I should never 
have known he was a stationmaster.” With this 
and a glance of deep admiration at his employer, he 
took his departure. 

“You will also observe,” said Thorndyke, with 
a smile, “that a fortunate guess often brings more 
credit than a piece of sound reasoning with a less 
striking result.” 

“Yes, that is unfortunately the case, and it is 
certainly true in the present instance. Your reputa¬ 
tion, as far as Polton is concerned, is now firmly 
established even if it was not before. In his eyes 
you are a wizard from whom nothing is hidden. But 
to return to these little pieces, as I must call them, 
for the lack of a better name. I can form no hypo¬ 
thesis as to their use. I seem to have no ‘departure,’ 
as the nautical phrase goes, from which to start an 
inquiry. I hayen’t even the material for guess-work. 


142 THE RED THUMB MARK 

Ought I to be able to arrive at any opinion on the 
subject?” 

Thorndyke picked up one of the pieces, lingering 
it delicately and inspecting with a critical eye the 
flat base on which it stood, and reflected for a few 
moments. 

“It is easy to trace a connection when one knows 
all the facts,” he said at length, “but it seems to me 
that you have the materials from which to form a 
conjecture. Perhaps I am wrong, but I think, when 
you have had more experience, you will find yourself 
able to work out a problem of this kind. What is 
required is constructive imagination and a rigorous 
exactness in reasoning. Now, you are a good 
reasoner, and you have recently shown me that you 
have the necessary imagination; you merely lack 
experience in the use of your faculties. When you 
learn my purpose in having these things made—as 
you will before long—you will probably be surprised 
that their use did not occur to you. And now let 
us go forth and take a brisk walk to refresh our¬ 
selves (or perhaps I should say myself) after the 
day’s labour.” 


CHAPTER XI 

THE AMBUSH 

U J AM going to ask for your collaboration in 
| another case,” said Thorndyke, a day or 
two later. “It appears to be one of suicide, 
but the solicitors to the ‘Griffin’ office have asked me 
to go down to the place, which is in the neighbour¬ 
hood of Barnet, and be present at the post-mortem, 
and the inquest. They have managed to arrange 
that the inquest shall take place directly after the 
post-mortem, so that we shall be able to do the whole 
business in a single visit.” 

“Is the case of any intricacy?” I asked. 

“I don’t think so,” he answered. “It looks like 
a common suicide; but you can never tell. The im¬ 
portance of the case at present arises entirely from 
the heavy insurance; a verdict of suicide will mean a 
gain of ten thousand pounds to the ‘Griffin,’ so, 
naturally, the directors are anxious to get the case 
settled and not inclined to boggle over a little ex¬ 
pense.” 


143 


144 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“Naturally. And when will the expedition take 
place?” I asked. 

“The inquest is fixed for to-morrow—what is the 
matter? Does that fall foul of any arrangement of 
yours?” 

“Oh, nothing of any importance,” I replied 
hastily, deeply ashamed of the momentary change of 
countenance that my friend had been so quick to ob¬ 
serve. 

“Well, what is it?” persisted Thorndyke. “You 
have got something on.” 

“It is nothing, I tell you, but what can be quite 
easily arranged to suit your plans.” 

“Cherchez la —h’m?” queried Thorndyke, with 
an exasperating grin. 

“Yes,” I answered, turning as red as a pickled 
cabbage; “since you are so beastly inquisitive. Miss 
Gibson wrote, on behalf of Mrs. Hornby, asking 
me to dine with them en famille to-morrow evening, 
and I sent off an acceptance an hour ago.” 

“And you call that ‘nothing of any importance’ 1” 
exclaimed Thorndyke. “Alas! and likewise alacka- 
day (which is an approximately synonymous expres¬ 
sion) ! The age of chivalry is past, indeed. Of 
course you must keep your appointment; I can 
manage quite well alone.” 

“We shouldn’t be back early enough for me to 
go to Kensington from the station, I suppose?” 

“No; certainly not. I find that the trains are 


THE AMBUSH 145 

very awkward; we should not reach King’s Cross 
until nearly one in the morning.” 

“Then, in that case, I shall write to Miss Gibson 
and excuse myself.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” said Thorndyke; “it 
will disappoint them, and really it is not necessary.” 

“I shall write forthwith,” I said firmly, “so please 
don’t try to dissuade me. I have been feeling quite 
uncomfortable at the thought that, all the time I 
have been in your employ, I seem to have done 
nothing but idle about and amuse myself. The op¬ 
portunity of doing something tangible for my wage 
is too precious to be allowed to slip.” 

Thorndyke chuckled indulgently. “You shall do 
as you please, my dear boy,” he said; “but don’t 
imagine that you have been eating the bread of 
idleness. When you see this Hornby case worked 
out in detail, you will be surprised to find how large 
a part you have taken in unravelling it. Your worth 
to me has been far beyond your poor little salary, 
I can assure you.” 

“It is very handsome of you to say that,” I said, 
highly gratified to learn that I was really of use, and 
not, as I had begun to suspect, a mere object of 
charity. 

“It is perfectly true,” he answered, “and now, 
since you are going to help me in this case, I will set 
you your task. The case, as I have said, appears to 
be quite simple, but it never does to take the sim¬ 
plicity for granted. Here is the letter from the 


146 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


solicitors giving the facts as far as they are known at 
present. On the shelves there you will find Casper, 
Taylor, Guy and Ferrier, and the other authorities 
on medical jurisprudence, and I will put out one or 
two other books that you may find useful. I want 
you to extract and make classified notes of every¬ 
thing that may bear on such a case as the present one 
may turn out to be. We must go prepared to meet 
any contingency that may arise. This is my invari¬ 
able practice, and even if the case turns out to be 
quite simple, the labour is never wasted, for it rep¬ 
resents so much experience gained.” 

“Casper and Taylor are pretty old, aren’t they?” 
I objected. 

“So is suicide,” he retorted drily. “It is a capital 
mistake to neglect the old authorities. ‘There were 
strong men before Agamemnon,’ and some of them 
were uncommonly strong, let me tell you. Give 
your best attention to the venerable Casper and the 
obsolete Taylor and you will not be without your 
reward.” 

As a result of these injunctions, I devoted the 
remainder of the day to the consideration of the 
various methods by which a man might contrive 
to effect his exit from the stage of human activities. 
And a very engrossing study I found it, and the more 
interesting in view of the problem that awaited 
solution on the morrow; but yet not so engrossing 
but that I was able to find time to write a long, 
rather intimate and minutely explanatory letter to 


THE AMBUSH 


147 


Miss Gibson, in which I even mentioned the hour 
of our return as showing the impossibility of my 
keeping my engagement. Not that I had the small¬ 
est fear of her taking offence, for it is an evidence of 
my respect and regard for her that I cancelled the 
appointment without a momentary doubt that she 
would approve of my action; but it was pleasant to 
write to her at length and to feel the intimacy of 
keeping her informed of the details of my life. 

The case, when we came to inquire into it on the 
spot, turned out to be a suicide of the most trans¬ 
parent type; whereat both Thorndyke and I were, 
I think, a little disappointed—he at having appar¬ 
ently done so little for a very substantial fee, and I 
at having no opportunity for applying my recently 
augmented knowledge. 

“Yes,” said my colleague, as we rolled ourselves 
up in our rugs in adjacent corners of the railway 
carriage, “it has been a flat affair, and the whole 
thing could have been managed by the local solicitor. 
But it is not a waste of time after all, for you see, I 
have to do many a day’s work for which I get not a 
farthing of payment, nor even any recognition, so 
that I do not complain if I occasionally find myself 
receiving more payment than my actual services 
merit. And as to you, I take it that you have ac¬ 
quired a good deal of valuable knowledge on the 
subject of suicide, and knowledge, as the late Lord 
Bacon remarked with more truth than originality, 
is power.” 


148 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


To this I made no reply, having just lit my pipe 
and feeling uncommonly drowsy; and, my companion 
having followed my example, we smoked in silence, 
becoming more and more somnolent, until the train 
drew up in the terminus and we turned out, yawning 
and shivering, on to the platform. 

“Bah!” exclaimed Thorndyke, drawing his rug 
round his shoulders; “this is a cheerless hour—a 
quarter past one. See how chilly and miserable 
all these poor devils of passengers look. Shall we 
cab it or walk?” 

“I think a sharp walk would rouse our circulation 
after sitting huddled up in the carriage for so long.” 
I answered. 

“So do I,” said Thorndyke, “so let us away; 
hark forward! and also Tally Ho! In fact one 
might go so far as to say Yoicks! That gentleman 
appears to favour the strenuous life, if one may 
judge by the size of his sprocket-wheel.” 

He pointed to a bicycle that was drawn up by the 
kerb in the approach—a machine of the road-racer 
type, with an enormous sprocket-wheel, indicating 
a gear of, at least, ninety. 

“Some scorcher or amateur racer, probably,” I 
said, “who takes the opportunity of getting a spin 
on the wood pavement when the streets are empty.” 
I looked round to see if I could identify the owner, 
but the machine appeared to be, for the moment, 
taking care of itself. 

King’s Cross is one of those districts of which the 


THE AMBUSH 


149 


inhabitants are slow in settling down for the night, 
and even at a quarter past one in the morning its 
streets are not entirely deserted. Here and there 
the glimmer of a street lamp or the far-reaching ray 
from a tall electric light reveals the form of some 
nocturnal prowler creeping along with cat-like 
stealthiness, or bursting, cat-like, into unmelodious 
song. Not greatly desirous of the society of these 
roysterers, we crossed quickly from the station into 
the Gray’s Inn Road, now silent and excessively 
dismal in aspect, and took our way along the western 
side. We had turned the curve and were crossing 
Manchester Street, when a series of yelps from 
ahead announced the presence of a party of merry¬ 
makers, whom we were not yet able to see, however, 
for the night was an exceptionally dark one; but the 
sounds of revelry continued to increase in volume as 
we proceeded, until, as we passed Sidmouth Street, 
we came in sight of the revellers. They were some 
half-dozen in number, all of them roughs of the 
hooligan type, and they were evidently in boisterous 
spirits, for, as they passed the entrance to the Royal 
Free Hospital, they halted and battered furiously 
at the gate. Shortly after this exploit they crossed 
the road on to our side, whereupon Thorndyke 
caught my arm and slackened his pace. 

“Let them draw ahead,” said he. “It is a wise 
precaution to give all hooligan gangs a very wide 
berth at this time of night. We had better turn 


150 THE RED THUMB MARK 

down Heathcote Street and cross Mecklenburgh 
Square.’’ 

We continued to walk on at reduced speed until 
we reached Heathcote Street, into which we turned 
and so entered Mecklenburgh Square, where we 
mended our pace once more. 

“The hooligan,” pursued Thorndyke, as we 
walked briskly across the silent square, “covers a 
multitude of sins, ranging from highway robbery 
with violence and paid assassination (technically 
known as ‘bashing’) down to the criminal folly of 
the philanthropic magistrate, who seems to think 
that his function in the economy of nature is to 
secure the survival of the unfittest. There goes a 
cyclist along Guildford Street. I wonder if that is 
our strenuous friend from the station. If so, he has 
slipped past the hooligans.” 

We were just entering Doughty Street, and, as 
Thorndyke spoke, a man on a bicycle was visible 
for an instant at the crossing of the two streets. 
When we reached Guildford Street we both looked 
down the long, lamp-lighted vista, but the cyclist 
had vanished. 

“We had better go straight on into Theobald’s 
Road,” said Thorndyke, and we accordingly pursued 
our way up the fine old-world street, from whose tall 
houses our footfalls echoed, so that we seemed to be 
accompanied by an invisible multitude, until we 
reached that part where it unaccountably changes 
its name and becomes John Street. 


THE AMBUSH 


151 


“There always seems to me something very 
pathetic about these old Bloomsbury streets,” said 
Thorndyke, “with their faded grandeur and digni¬ 
fied seediness. They remind me of some prim and 
aged gentlewoman in reduced circumstances who— 
Hallo! What was that?” 

A faint, sharp thud from behind had been fol¬ 
lowed instantly by the shattering of a ground-floor 
window in front. 

We both stopped dead and remained, for a couple 
of seconds, staring into the gloom, from whence the 
first sound had come; then Thorndyke darted 
diagonally across the road at a swift run and I im¬ 
mediately followed. 

At the moment when the affair happened we had 
gone about forty yards up John Street, that is, from 
the place where it is crossed by Henry Street and 
we now raced across the road to the further corner 
of the latter street. When we reached it, however, 
the little thoroughfare was empty, and, as we paused 
for a moment, no sound of retreating footsteps 
broke the silence. 

“The shot certainly came from here!” said 
Thorndyke; “come on,” and he again broke into a 
run. A few yards up the street a mews turns off 
to the left, and into this my companion plunged, 
motioning me to go straight on, which I accordingly 
did, and in a few paces reached the top of the street. 
Here a narrow thoroughfare, with a broad, smooth 
pavement, bears off to the left, parallel with the 


152 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


mews, and, as I arrived at the corner and glanced 
up the little street, I saw a man on a bicycle gliding 
swiftly and silently towards Little James’ Street. 

With a mighty shout of “Stop thief!” I started 
in hot pursuit, but, though the man’s feet were 
moving in an apparently leisurely manner, he drew 
ahead at an astonishing pace, in spite of my efforts 
to overtake him; and it then dawned upon me that 
the slow revolutions of his feet were due, in reality, 
to the unusually high gear of the machine that he was 
riding. As I realised this, and at the same moment 
recalled the bicycle that we had seen in the station, 
the fugitive swung round into Little James’ Street 
and vanished. 

The speed at which the man was travelling made 
further pursuit utterly futile, so I turned and walked 
back, panting and perspiring from the unwonted 
exertion. As I re-entered Henry Street, Thorndyke 
emerged from the mews and halted on seeing me. 

“Cyclist?” he asked laconically, as I came up. 

“Yes,” I answered; “riding a machine geared up 
to about ninety.” 

“Ah! he must have followed us from the station,” 
said Thorndyke. “Did you notice if he was carrying 
anything?” 

“He had a walking-stick in his hand. I didn’t 
see anything else.” 

“What sort of walking-stick?” 

“I couldn’t see very distinctly. It was a stoutish 
stick—I should say a Malacca, probably—and it had 


THE AMBUSH 153 

what looked like a horn handle. I could see that as 
he passed a street lamp?” 

‘‘What kind of lamp had he?” 

“I couldn’t see; but, as he turned the corner, I 
noticed that it seemed to burn very dimly.” 

“A little vaseline, or even oil, smeared on the 
outside of the glass will reduce the glare of a lamp 
very appreciably,” my companion remarked, “especi¬ 
ally on a dusty road. Ha! here is the proprietor of 
the broken window. He wants to know, you know.” 

We had once more turned into John Street and 
now perceived a man, standing on the wide doorstep 
of the house with the shattered window, looking 
anxiously up and down the street. 

“Do either of you gents know anything about this 
here?” he asked, pointing to the broken pane. 

“Yes,” said Thorndyke, “we happened to be pass¬ 
ing when it was done; in fact,” he added, “I rather 
suspect that the missile, whatever it was, was 
intended for our benefit.” 

“Oh!” said the man. “Who done it?” 

“That I can’t say,” replied Thorndyke. “Who¬ 
ever he was, he made off on a bicycle and we were 
unable to catch him.” 

“Oh!” said the man once more, regarding us 
with growing suspicion. “On a bicycle, hay! Dam 
funny, ain’t it? What did he do it with?” 

“That is what I should like to find out,” said 
Thorndyke. “I see this house is empty.” 


154 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“Yes, it’s empty—leastways it’s to let. I’m the 
caretaker. But what’s that got to do with it?” 

“Merely this,” answered Thorndyke, “that the 
object—stone, bullet or whatever it may have been 
—was aimed, I believe, at me, and I should like to 
ascertain its nature. Would you do me the favour 
of permitting me to look for it?” 

The caretaker was evidently inclined to refuse 
this request, for he glanced suspiciously from my 
companion to me once or twice before replying, but, 
at length, he turned towards the open door and 
gruffly invited us to enter. 

A paraffin lamp was on the floor in a recess of the 
hall, and this our conductor took up when he had 
closed the street door. 

“This is the room,” he said, turning the key and 
thrusting the door open; “the library they call it, 
but it’s the front parlour in plain English.” He 
entered and, holding the lamp above his head, stared 
balefully at the broken window. 

Thorndyke glanced quickly along the floor in the 
direction that the missile would have taken, and then 
said— 

“Do you see any mark on the wall there?” 

As he spoke, he indicated the wall opposite the 
window, which obviously could not have been struck 
by a projectile entering with such extreme obliquity; 
and I was about to point out this fact when I fortu¬ 
nately remembered the great virtue of silence. 

Our friend approached the wall, still holding up 


THE AMBUSH 


155 


the lamp, and scrutinised the surface with close at¬ 
tention; and while he was thus engaged, I observed 
Thorndyke stoop quickly and pick up something, 
which he deposited carefully, and without remark, 
in his waistcoat pocket. 

“I don’t see no bruise anywhere,” said the care¬ 
taker, sweeping his hand over the wall. 

“Perhaps the thing struck this wall,” suggested 
Thorndyke, pointing to the one that was actually in 
the line of fire. “Yes, of course,” he added, “it 
would be this one—the shot came from Henry 
Street.” 

The caretaker crossed the room and threw the 
light of his lamp on the wall thus indicated. 

“Ah! here we are!” he exclaimed, with gloomy 
satisfaction, pointing to a small dent in which the 
wall-paper was turned back and the plaster exposed; 
“Looks almost like a bullet mark, but you say you 
didn’t hear no report.” 

“No,” said Thorndyke, “there was no report; it 
must have been a catapult.” 

The caretaker set the lamp down on the floor and 
proceeded to grope about for the projectile, in which 
operation we both assisted; and I could not suppress 
a faint smile as I noted the earnestness with which 
Thorndyke peered about the floor in search of the 
missile that was quietly reposing in his waistcoat 
pocket. 

We were deep in our investigations when there 
was heard an uncompromising double knock at the 


156 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


street door, followed by the loud pealing of a bell 
in the basement. 

“Bobby, I suppose,” growled the caretaker. 
“Here’s a blooming fuss about nothing.” He 
caught up the lamp and went out, leaving us in the 
dark. 

“I picked it up, you know,” said Thorndyke, when 
we were alone. 

“I saw you,” I answered. 

“Good; I applaud your discretion,” he rejoined. 
The caretaker’s supposition was correct. When he 
returned, he was accompanied by a burly constable, 
who saluted us with a cheerful smile and glanced 
facetiously round the empty room. 

“Our boys,” said he, nodding towards the broken 
window; “they’re playful lads, that they are. You 
were passing when it happened, sir, I hear.” 

“Yes,” answered Thorndyke; and he gave the 
constable a brief account of the occurrence, which 
the latter listened to, notebook in hand. 

“Well,” said he when the narrative was concluded, 
“if those hooligan boys are going to take to cata¬ 
pults they’ll make things lively all round.” 

“You ought to run some of ’em in,” said the 
caretaker. 

“Run ’em in!” exclaimed the constable in a tone 
of disgust; “yes! And then the magistrate will tell 
’em to be good boys and give ’em five shillings out 
of the poor-box to buy illustrated Testaments. I’d 
Testament them, the worthless varmints!” 


THE AMBUSH 


157 


He rammed his notebook fiercely into his pocket 
and stalked out of the room into the street, whither 
we followed. 

“You’ll find that bullet or stone when you sweep 
up the room,” he said, as he turned on his beat; 
“and you’d better let us have it. Good night, sir.” 

He strolled off towards Henry Street, while 
Thorndyke and I resumed our journey southward. 

“Why were you so secret about that projectile?” 
I asked my friend as we walked up the street. 

“Partly to avoid discussion with the caretaker,” 
he replied; “but principally because I thought it 
likely that a constable would pass the house and, 
seeing the light, come in to make inquiries.” 

“And then?” 

“Then I should have had to hand over the object 
to him.” 

“And why not? Is the object a specially inter¬ 
esting one?” 

“It is highly interesting to me at the present 
moment,” replied Thorndyke, with a chuckle, “be¬ 
cause I have not examined it. I have a theory as 
to its nature, which theory I should like to test be¬ 
fore taking the police into my confidence.” 

“Are you going to take me into your confidence?” 
I asked. 

“When we get home, if you are not too sleepy,” 
he replied. 

On our arrival at his chambers, Thorndyke 
desired me to light up and clear one end of the table 


158 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


while he went up to the workshop to fetch some 
tools. I turned back the table cover, and, having 
adjusted the gas so as to light this part of the table, 
waited in some impatience for my colleague’s return. 
In a few minutes he re-entered bearing a small vise, 
a metal saw and a wide-mouthed bottle. 

“What have you got in that bottle?” I asked, 
perceiving a metal object inside it. 

“That is the projectile, which I have thought fit 
to rinse in distilled water, for reasons that will pre¬ 
sently appear.” 

He agitated the bottle gently for a minute or so, 
and then, with a pair of dissecting forceps, lifted out 
the object and held it above the surface of the water 
to drain, after which he laid it carefully on a piece 
of blotting-paper. 

I stooped over the projectile and examined it with 
great curiosity, while Thorndyke stood by regarding 
me with almost equal interest. 

“Well,” he said, after watching me in silence for 
some time, “what do you see?” 

“I see a small brass cylinder,” I answered, “about 
two inches long and rather thicker than an ordinary 
lead pencil. One end is conical, and there is a small 
hole at the apex which seems to contain a steel point; 
the other end is flat, but has in the centre a small 
square projection such as might fit a watch-key. I 
notice also a small hole in the side of the cylinder 
close to the flat end. The thing looks like a 
miniature shell, and appears to be hollow.” 


THE AMBUSH 


159 


“It is hollow,” said Thorndyke. “You must have 
observed that, when I held it up to drain, the water 
trickled out through the hole at the pointed end.” 

“Yes, I noticed that.” 

“Now take it up and shake it.” 

I did so and felt some heavy object rattle inside it. 

“There is some loose body inside it,” I said, 
“which fits it pretty closely, as it moves only in the 
long diameter.” 

“Quite so; your description is excellent. And 
now, what is the nature of this projectile?” 

“I should say it is a miniature shell or explosive 
bullet.” 

“Wrong!” said Thorndyke. “A very natural 
inference, but a wrong one.” 

“Then what is the thing?” I demanded, my curi¬ 
osity still further aroused. 

“I will show you,” he replied. “It is something 
much more subtle than an explosive bullet—which 
would really be a rather crude appliance—admirably 
thought out and thoroughly well executed. We 
have to deal with a most ingenious and capable 
man.” 

I was fain to laugh at his enthusiastic appreciation 
of the methods of his would-be assassin, and the 
humour of the situation then appeared to dawn on 
him, for he said, with an apologetic smile— 

“I am not expressing approval, you must under¬ 
stand, but merely professional admiration. It is 
this class of criminal that creates the necessity for 


160 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


my services. He is my patron, so to speak; my ulti¬ 
mate employer. For the common crook can be dealt 
with quite efficiently by the common policeman!” 

While he was speaking he had been fitting the 
little cylinder between two pads of tissue-paper in 
the vice, which he now screwed up tight. Then, 
with the fine metal saw, he began to cut the projec¬ 
tile, lengthwise, into two slightly unequal parts. 
This operation took some time, especially since he 
was careful not to cut the loose body inside, but at 
length the section was completed and the interior of 
the cylinder exposed, when he released it from the 
vice and held it up before me with an expression of 
triumph. 

“Now, what do you make it?” he demanded. 

I took the object in my fingers and looked at it 
closely, but was at first more puzzled than before. 
The loose body I now saw to be a cylinder of lead 
about half an inch long, accurately fitting the inside 
of the cylinder but capable of slipping freely back¬ 
wards and forwards. The steel point which I had 
noticed in the hole at the apex of the conical end, 
was now seen to be the pointed termination of a 
slender steel rod which projected fully an inch into 
the cavity of the cylinder, and the conical end itself 
was a solid mass of lead. 

“Well?” queried Thorndyke, seeing that I was 
still silent. 

“You tell me it is not an explosive bullet,” I 
replied, “otherwise I should have been confirmed 


THE AMBUSH 


161 


in that opinion. I should have said that the per¬ 
cussion cap was carried by this lead plunger and 
struck on the end of that steel rod when the flight 
of the bullet was suddenly arrested.” 

“Very good indeed,” said Thorndyke. “You 
are right so far that this is, in fact, the mechanism 
of a percussion shell. 

“But look at this. You see this little rod was 
driven inside the bullet when the latter struck the 
wall. Let us replace it in its original position.” 

He laid the end of a small flat file against the end 
of the rod and pressed it firmly, when the rod slid 
through the hole until it projected an inch beyond 
the apex of the cone. Then he handed the projectile 
back to me. 

A single glance at the point of the steel rod made 
the whole thing clear, and I gave a whistle of con¬ 
sternation; for the “rod” was a fine tube with a 
sharply pointed end. 

“The infernal scoundrel!” I exclaimed; “it is a 
hypodermic needle.” 

“Yes. A veterinary hypodermic, of extra large 
bore. Now you see the subtlety and ingenuity of 
the whole thing. If he had had a reasonable chance 
he would certainly have succeeded.” 

“You speak quite regretfully,” I said, laughing 
again at the oddity of his attitude towards the 
assassin. 

“Not at all,” he replied. “I have the character 
of a single-handed player, but even the most self- 


162 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


reliant man can hardly make a post-mortem on him¬ 
self. I am merely appreciating an admirable piece 
of mechanical design most efficiently carried out. 
Observe the completeness of the thing, and the way 
in which all the necessities of the case are foreseen 
and met. This projectile was discharged from a 
powerful air-gun—the walking-stick form—pro¬ 
vided with a force-pump and key. The barrel of 
that gun was rifled.” 

“How do you know that?” I asked. 

“Well, to begin with, it would be useless to fit a 
needle to the projectile unless the latter was made 
to travel with the point forwards; but there is direct 
evidence that the barrel was rifled. You notice the 
little square projection on the back surface of the 
cylinder. That was evidently made to fit a washer 
or wad—probably a thin plate of soft metal which 
would be driven by the pressure from behind into 
the grooves of the rifling and thus give a spinning 
motion to the bullet. When the latter left the 
barrel, the wad would drop off, leaving it free.” 

“I see. I was wondering what the square projec¬ 
tion was for. It is, as you say, extremely ingenious.” 

“Highly ingenious,” said Thorndyke, enthusias¬ 
tically, “and so is the whole device. See how per¬ 
fectly it would have worked but for a mere fluke 
and for the complication of your presence. Sup¬ 
posing that I had been alone, so that he could have 
approached to a shorter distance. In that case he 
would not have missed, and the thing would have 


THE AMBUSH 163 

been done. You see how it was intended to be done, 
I suppose?” 

“I think so,” I answered; “but I should like to 
hear your account of the process.” 

“Well, you see, he first finds out that I am return¬ 
ing by a late train—which he seems to have done— 
and he waits for me at the terminus. Meanwhile 
he fills the cylinder with a solution of a powerful 
alkaloidal poison, which is easily done by dipping 
the needle into the liquid and sucking at the small 
hole near the back end, when the piston will be 
drawn up and the liquid will follow it. You notice 
that the upper side of the piston is covered with 
vaseline—introduced through the hole, no doubt— 
which would prevent the poison from coming out 
into the mouth, and make the cylinder secure from 
leakage. On my arrival, he follows me on his bicycle 
until I pass through a sufficiently secluded neigh¬ 
bourhood. Then he approaches me, or passes me 
and waits round a corner, and shoots at pretty close 
range. It doesn’t matter where he hits me; all 
parts are equally vital, so he can aim at the middle 
of my back. Then the bullet comes spinning through 
the air point foremost; the needle passes through 
the clothing and enters the flesh, and, as the bullet 
is suddenly stopped, the heavy piston flies down by 
its own great momentum and squirts out a jet of 
the poison into the tissues. The bullet then dis¬ 
engages itself and drops on to the ground. 

“Meanwhile, our friend has mounted his bicycle 


164 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


and is off, and when I feel the prick of the needle, I 
turn, and, without stopping to look for the bullet, 
immediately give chase. I am, of course, not able 
to overtake a man on a racing machine, but still I 
follow him some distance. Then the poison begins 
to take effect—the more rapidly from the violent 
exercise—and presently I drop insensible. Later on, 
my body is found. There are no marks of violence, 
and probably the needle-puncture escapes observa¬ 
tion at the post-mortem, in which case the verdict 
will be death from heart-failure. Even if the poison 
and the puncture are discovered, there is no clue. 
The bullet lies some streets away, and is probably 
picked up by some boy or passing stranger, who 
cannot conjecture its use, and who would never 
connect it with the man who was found dead. You 
will admit that the whole plan has been worked out 
with surprising completeness and foresight.” 

“Yes,” I answered; “there is no doubt that the 
fellow is a most infernally clever scoundrel. May I 
ask if you have any idea who he is?” 

“Well,” Thorndyke replied, “seeing that, as 
Carlyle has unkindly pointed out, clever people are 
not in an overwhelming majority, and that, of the 
clever people whom I know, only a very few are 
interested in my immediate demise, I am able to 
form a fairly probable conjecture.” 

“And what do you mean to do?” 

“For the present I shall maintain an attitude of 
masterly inactivity and avoid the night air.” 


THE AMBUSH 


165 


“But, surely,” I exclaimed, “you will take some 
measures to protect yourself against attempts of this 
kind. You can hardly doubt now that your accident 
in the fog was really an attempted murder.” 

“I never did doubt it, as a matter of fact, although 
I prevaricated at the time. But I have not enough 
evidence against this man at present, and, conse¬ 
quently, can do nothing but show that I suspect him, 
which would be foolish. Whereas, if I lie low, one 
of two things will happen; either the occasion for 
my removal (which is only a temporary one) will 
pass, or he will commit himself—will put a definite 
clue into my hands. Then we shall find the air-cane, 
the bicycle, perhaps a little stock of poison, and 
certain other trifles that I have in my mind, which 
will be good confirmatory evidence, though insuffi¬ 
cient in themselves. And now, I think, I must really 
adjourn this meeting, or we shall be good for 
nothing to-morrow.” 


CHAPTER XII 

IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN 

I T was now only a week from the date on which 
the trial was to open. In eight days the mys¬ 
tery would almost certainly be solved (if it was 
capable of solution), for the trial promised to be 
quite a short one, and then Reuben Hornby would 
be either a convicted felon or a free man, clear of 
the stigma of the crime. 

For several days past, Thorndyke had been in 
almost constant possession of the laboratory, while 
his own small room, devoted ordinarily to bacteri¬ 
ology and microscopical work was kept continually 
locked; a state of things that reduced Polton to a 
condition of the most extreme nervous irritation, 
especially when, as he told me indignantly, he met 
Mr. Anstey emerging from the holy of holies, grin¬ 
ning and rubbing his hands and giving utterance to 
genial but unparliamentary expressions of amused 
satisfaction. 

I had met Anstey on several occasions lately, and 
each time liked him better than the last; for his 
166 


IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN 


167 


whimsical, facetious manner covered a nature (as it 
often does) that was serious and thoughtful; and I 
found him, not only a man of considerable learning, 
but one also of a lofty standard of conduct. His 
admiration for Thorndyke was unbounded, and I 
could see that the two men collaborated with the 
utmost sympathy and mutual satisfaction. 

But although I regarded Mr. Anstey with feelings 
of the liveliest friendship, I was far from gratified 
when, on the morning of which I am writing, I ob¬ 
served him from our sitting-room window crossing 
the gravelled space from Crown Office Row and evi¬ 
dently bearing down on our chambers. For the fact 
is that I was awaiting the arrival of Juliet, and 
should greatly have preferred to be alone at the 
moment, seeing that Thorndyke had already gone 
out. It is true that my fair enslaver was not due for 
nearly half-an-hour, but then, who could say how 
long Anstey would stay, or what embarrassments 
might arise from my efforts to escape? By all of 
which it may be perceived that my disease had 
reached a very advanced stage, and that I was un¬ 
equal to those tactics of concealment that are com¬ 
monly attributed to the ostrich. 

A sharp rap of the knocker announced the arrival 
of the disturber of my peace, and when I opened the 
door Anstey walked in with the air of a man to 
whom an hour more or less is of no consequence 
whatever. He shook my hand with mock solemnity, 
and, seating himself upon the edge of the table, pro- 


168 THE RED THUMB MARK 

ceeded to roll a cigarette with exasperating delib¬ 
eration. 

“I infer,” said he, “that our learned brother is 
practising parlour magic upstairs, or peradventure 
he has gone on a journey?” 

“He has a consultation this morning,” I answered. 
“Was he expecting you?” 

“Evidently not, or he would have been here. No, 
I just looked in to ask a question about the case of 
your friend Hornby. You know it comes on for trial 
next week?” 

“Yes; Thorndyke told me. What do you think 
of Hornby’s prospects? Is he going to be convicted, 
or will he get an acquittal?” 

“He will be entirely passive,” replied Anstey, “but 
we ”—here he slapped his chest impressively—“are 
going to secure an acquittal. You will be highly 
entertained, my learned friend, and Mr. The Enemy 
will be excessively surprised.” He inspected the 
newly-made cigarette with a critical air and chuckled 
softly. 

“You seem pretty confident,” I remarked. 

“I am,” he answered, “though Thorndyke con¬ 
siders failure possible—which, of course, it is if the 
jury-box should chance to be filled with microcephalic 
idiots and the judge should prove incapable of under¬ 
standing simple technical evidence. But we hope 
that neither of these things will happen, and, if they 
do not, we feel pretty safe. By the way, I hope I am 
not divulging your principal’s secrets?” 


IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN 169 

“Well,” I replied, with a smile, “you have been 
more explicit than Thorndyke ever has.” 

“Have I?” he exclaimed, with mock anxiety; 
“then I must swear you to secrecy. Thorndyke is 
so very close—and he is quite right too. I never 
cease admiring his tactics of allowing the enemy to 
fortify and barricade the entrance that he does not 
mean to attack. But I see you are wishing me at the 
devil, so give me a cigar and I will go—though not 
to that particular destination.” 

“Will you have one of Thorndyke’s special 
brand?” I asked malignantly. 

“What! those foul Trichinopolies? Not while 
brown paper is to be obtained at every stationer’s; 
I’d sooner smoke my own wig.” 

I tendered my own case, from which he selected a 
cigar with anxious care and much sniffing; then he 
bade me a ceremonious adieu and departed down the 
stairs, blithely humming a melody from the latest 
comic opera. 

He had not left more than five minutes when a 
soft and elaborate rat-tat from the little brass 
knocker brought my heart into my mouth. I ran 
to the door and flung it open, revealing Juliet stand¬ 
ing on the threshold. 

“May I come in?” she asked. “I want to have 
a few words with you before we start.” 

I looked at her with some anxiety, for she was 
manifestly agitated, and the hand that she held out 
to me trembled. 


170 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“I am greatly upset, Dr. Jervis,” she said, ignor¬ 
ing the chair that I had placed for her. “Mr. Law- 
ley has been giving us his views of poor Reuben’s 
case, and his attitude fills me with dismay.” 

“Hang Mr. Lawley!” I muttered, and then apolo¬ 
gised hastily. “What made you go to him, Miss 
Gibson?” 

“I didn’t go to him; he came to us. He dined with 
us last night—he and Walter—and his manner was 
gloomy in the extreme. After dinner Walter took 
him apart with me and asked him what he really 
thought of the case. He was most pessimistic. 
‘My dear sir,’ he said, ‘the only advice I can give 
you is that you prepare yourself to contemplate 
disaster as philosophically as you can. In my opinion 
your cousin is almost certain to be convicted.’ ‘But’ 
said Walter, ‘what about the defence? I under¬ 
stood that there was at least a plausible case.’ Mr. 
Lawley shrugged his shoulders. ‘I have a sort of 
alibi that will go for nothing, but I have no evidence 
to offer in answer to that of the prosecution, and no 
case; and I may say, speaking in confidence, that I do 
not believe there is any case. I do not see how there 
can be any case, and I have heard nothing from Dr. 
Thorndyke to lead me to suppose that he has really 
done anything in the matter.’ Is this true Dr. 
Jervis? Oh! do tell me the real truth about it! I 
have been so miserable and terrified since I heard 
this, and I was so full of hope before. Tell me, is 
it true? Will Reuben be sent to prison after all?” 


IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN 


171 


In her agitation she laid her hands on my arm and 
looked up into my face with her grey eyes swimming 
with tears, and was so piteous, so trustful, and, 
withal, so bewitching that my reserve melted like 
snow before a July sun. 

“It is not true,” I answered, taking her hands in 
mine and speaking perforce in a low tone that I 
might not betray my emotion. “If it were, it would 
mean that I have wilfully deceived you, that I have 
been false to our friendship; and how much that 
friendship has been to me, no one but myself will 
ever know.” 

She crept a little closer to me with a manner at 
once penitent and wheedling. 

“You are not going to be angry with me, are you? 
It was foolish of me to listen to Mr. Lawley after all 
you have told me, and it did look like a want of trust 
in you, I know. But you, who are so strong and 
wise, must make allowance for a woman who is 
neither. It is all so terrible that I am quite un¬ 
strung ; but say you are not really displeased with me, 
for that would hurt me most of all.” 

Oh! Delilah! That concluding stroke of the 
shears severed the very last lock, and left me— 
morally speaking—as bald as a billiard ball. Hence¬ 
forth I was at her mercy and would have divulged, 
without a scruple, the uttermost secrets of my princi¬ 
pal, but that that astute gentleman had placed me be¬ 
yond the reach of temptation. 

“As to being angry with you,” I answered, “I 


172 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


am not, like Thorndyke, one to essay the impossible, 
and if I could be angry it would hurt me more than 
it would you. But, in fact, you are not to blame at 
all, and I am an egotistical brute. Of course you 
were alarmed and distressed; nothing could be more 
natural. So now let me try to chase away your fears 
and restore your confidence. 

“I have told you what Thorndyke said to Reuben: 
that he had good hopes of making his innocence clear 
to everybody. That alone should have been 
enough.” 

“I know it should,” murmured Juliet remorse¬ 
fully; “please forgive me for my want of faith.” 

“But,” I continued, “I can quote you the words 
of one to whose opinions you will attach more 
weight. Mr. Anstey was here less than half-an-hour 


“Do you mean Reuben’s counsel?” 

“Yes.” 

“And what did he say? Oh, do tell me what he 
said.” 

“He said, in brief, that he was quite confident of 
obtaining an acquittal, and that the prosecution 
would receive a great surprise. He seemed highly 
pleased with his brief, and spoke with great admira¬ 
tion of Thorndyke.” 

“Did he really say that—that he was confident of 
an acquittal?” Her voice was breathless and un¬ 
steady, and she was clearly, as she had said, quite 
unstrung. “What a relief it is,” she murmured 



IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN 


173 


incoherently; “and so very, very kind of you!” 
She wiped her eyes and laughed a queer, shaky little 
laugh; then, quite suddenly, she burst into a passion 
of sobbing. 

Hardly conscious of what I did, I drew her gently 
towards me, and rested her head on my shoulder 
whilst I whispered into her ear I know not what 
words of consolation; but I am sure that I called her 
“dear Juliet,” and probably used other expressions 
equally improper and reprehensible. Presently she 
recovered herself, and, having dried her eyes, re¬ 
garded me somewhat shamefacedly, blushing hotly, 
but smiling very sweetly nevertheless. 

“I am ashamed of myself,” she said, “coming here 
and weeping on your bosom like a great baby. It is 
to be hoped that your other clients do not behave in 
this way.” 

Whereat we both laughed heartily, and, our emo¬ 
tional equilibrium being thus restored, we began to 
think of the object of our meeting. 

“I am afraid I have wasted a great deal of time,” 
said Juliet, looking at her watch. “Shall we be too 
late, do you think?” 

“I hope not,” I replied, “for Reuben will be look¬ 
ing for us; but we must hurry.” 

I caught up my hat, and we went forth, closing the 
oak behind us, and took our way up King’s Bench 
Walk in silence, but with a new and delightful sense 
of intimate comradeship. I glanced from time to 
time at my companion, and noted that her cheek still 


174 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


bore a rosy flush, and when she looked at me there 
was a sparkle in her eye, and a smiling softness in her 
glance, that stirred my heart until I trembled with 
the intensity of the passion that I must needs conceal. 
And even while I was feeling that I must tell her all, 
and have done with it; tell her that I was her abject 
slave, and she my goddess, my queen; that in the 
face of such a love as mine no man could have any 
claim upon her; even then, there arose the still, small 
voice that began to call me an unfaithful steward and 
to remind me of a duty and trust that were sacred 
even beyond love. 

In Fleet Street I hailed a cab, and, as I took my 
seat beside my fair companion, the voice began to 
wax and speak in bolder and sterner accents. 

“Christopher Jervis,” it said, “what is this that 
you are doing? Are you a man of honour or nought 
but a mean, pitiful blackguard? You, the trusted 
agent of this poor, misused gentleman, are you not 
planning in your black heart how you shall rob him 
of that which, if he is a man at all, must be more 
to him than his liberty, or even his honour? Shame 
on you for a miserable weakling! Have done with 
these philanderings and keep your covenants like 
a gentleman—or, at least, an honest man!” 

At this point in my meditations Juliet turned to¬ 
wards me with a coaxing smile. 

“My legal adviser seems to be revolving some 
deep and weighty matter,” she said. 

I pulled myself together and looked at her—at 


IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN 175 

her sparkling eyes and rosy, dimpling cheeks, so win¬ 
some and lovely and lovable. 

“Come,” I thought, “I must put an end to this 
at once, or I am lost.” But it cost me a very agony 
of effort to do it—which agony, I trust, may be duly 
set to my account by those who may sit in judgement 
on me. 

“Your legal adviser, Miss Gibson,” I said (and at 
that “Miss Gibson” I thought she looked at me a 
little queerly), “has been reflecting that he has acted 
considerably beyond his jurisdiction.” 

“In what respect?” she asked. 

“In passing on to you information which was 
given to him in very strict confidence, and, in fact, 
with an implied promise of secrecy on his part.” 

“But the information was not of a very secret 
character, was it?” 

“More so than it appeared. You see, Thorndyke 
thinks it so important not to let the prosecution sus¬ 
pect that he has anything up his sleeve, that he has 
kept even Mr. Lawley in the dark, and he has never 
said as much to me as Anstey did this morning.” 

“And now you are sorry you told me; you think I 
have led you into a breach of trust. Is it not so?” 
She spoke without a trace of petulance, and her tone 
of dignified self-accusation made me feel a veritable 
worm. 

“My dear Miss Gibson,” I expostulated, “you 
entirely misunderstand me. I am not in the least 
sorry that I told you. How could I have done other- 


176 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


wise under the circumstances? But I want you to 
understand that I have taken the responsibility of 
communicating to you what is really a professional 
secret, and that you are to consider it as such.” 

“That was how I understood it,” replied Juliet; 
“and you may rely upon me not to utter a syllable 
on the subject to anyone.” 

I thanked her for this promise, and then, by way 
of making conversation, gave her an account in detail 
of Anstey’s visit, not even omitting the incident of 
the cigar. 

“And are Dr. Thorndyke’s cigars so extraordi¬ 
narily bad?” she asked. 

“Not at all,” I replied; “only they are not to 
every man’s taste. The Trichinopoly cheroot is 
Thorndyke’s one dissipation, and, I must say, he 
takes it very temperately. Under ordinary circum¬ 
stances he smokes a pipe; but after a specially heavy 
day’s work, or on any occasion of festivity or rejoic¬ 
ing, he indulges in a Trichinopoly, and he smokes 
the very best that can be got.” 

“So even the greatest men have their weaknesses,” 
Juliet moralised; “but I wish I had known Dr. 
Thorndyke’s sooner, for Mr. Hornby had a large 
box of Trichinopoly cheroots given to him, and I 
believe they were exceptionally fine ones. However, 
he tried one and didn’t like it, so he transferred the 
whole consignment to Walter, who smokes all sorts 
and conditions of cigars.” 

So we talked on from one commonplace to an- 


MURDER BY POST 


177 


other, and each more conventional than the last. In 
my nervousness, I overdid my part, and having 
broken the ice, proceeded to smash it to impalpable 
fragments. Endeavouring merely to be unemotional 
and to avoid undue intimacy of manner, I swung to 
the opposite extreme and became almost stiff; and 
perhaps the more so since I was writhing with the 
agony of repression. 

Meanwhile a corresponding change took place in 
my companion. At first her manner seemed doubt¬ 
ful and bewildered; then she, too, grew more distant 
and polite and less disposed for conversation. Per¬ 
haps her conscience began to rebuke her, or it may be 
that my coolness suggested to her that her conduct 
had not been quite of the kind that would have com¬ 
mended itself to Reuben. But however that may 
have been, we continued to draw farther and farther 
apart; and in that short half-hour we retraced the 
steps of our growing friendship to such purpose that, 
when we descended from the cab at the prison gate, 
we seemed more like strangers than on the first day 
that we met. It was a miserable ending to all our 
delightful comradeship, and yet what other end 
could one expect in this world of cross purposes and 
things that might have been? In the extremity of 
my wretchedness I could have wept on the bosom of 
the portly warder who opened the wicket, even as 
Juliet had wept upon mine; and it was almost a relief 
to me, when our brief visit was over, to find that we 
should not return together to King’s Cross as was 


178 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


our wont, but that Juliet would go back by omnibus 
that she might do some shopping in Oxford Street, 
leaving me to walk home alone. 

I saw her into her omnibus, and stood on the pave¬ 
ment looking wistfully at the lumbering vehicle as it 
dwindled in the distance. At last, with a sigh of 
deepest despondency, I turned my face homeward, 
and, walking like one in a dream, retraced the route 
over which I had journeyed so often of late and with 
such different sensations. 


CHAPTER XIII 

MURDER BY POST 

T HE next few days were perhaps the most 
unhappy that I have known. My life, indeed, 
since I had left the hospital had been one of 
many disappointments and much privation. Unful¬ 
filled desires and ambitions unrealised had combined 
with distaste for the daily drudgery that had fallen 
to my lot to embitter my poverty and cause me to 
look with gloomy distrust upon the unpromising 
future. But no sorrow that I had hitherto experi¬ 
enced could compare with the grief that I now felt 
in contemplating the irretrievable ruin of what I 
knew to be the great passion of my life. For to a 
man like myself, of few friends and deep affections, 
one great emotional upheaval exhausts the possibili¬ 
ties of nature; leaving only the capacity for feeble 
and ineffective echoes. The edifice of love that is 
raised upon the ruins of a great passion can compare 
with the original no more than can the paltry mosque 
that perches upon the mound of Jonah with the 
glories of the palace that lies entombed beneath. 

179 


180 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


I had made a pretext to write to Juliet and had 
received a reply quite frank and friendly in tone, 
by which I knew that she had not—as some women 
would have done—set the blame upon me for our 
temporary outburst of emotion. And yet there was 
a subtle difference from her previous manner of writ¬ 
ing that only emphasised the finality of our separa¬ 
tion. 

I think Thorndyke perceived that something had 
gone awry, though I was at great pains to maintain 
a cheerful exterior and keep myself occupied, and 
he probably formed a pretty shrewd guess at the 
nature of the trouble; but he said nothing, and I only 
judged that he had observed some change in my 
manner by the fact that there was blended with his 
usual quiet geniality an almost insensible note of 
sympathy and affection. 

A couple of days after my last interview with 
Juliet, an event occurred which served, certainly, 
to relieve the tension and distract my thoughts, 
though not in a very agreeable manner. 

It was the pleasant, reposeful hour after dinner 
when it was our custom to sit in our respective easy 
chairs and, as we smoked our pipes, discuss some of 
the many topics in which we had a common interest. 
The postman had just discharged into the capacious 
letter-box an avalanche of letters and circulars, and 
as I sat glancing through the solitary letter that had 
fallen to my share, I looked from time to time at 
Thorndyke and noticed, as I had often done before, 


MURDER BY POST 


181 


with some surprise, a curious habit that he had of 
turning over and closely scrutinising every letter and 
package before he opened it. 

“I observe, Thorndyke,” I now ventured to re¬ 
mark, “that you always examine the outside of a 
letter before looking at the inside. I have seen other 
people do the same, and it has always appeared to 
me a singularly foolish proceeding. Why speculate 
over an unopened letter when a glance at the con¬ 
tents will tell you all there is to know?” 

“You are perfectly right,” he answered, “if the 
object of the inspection is to discover who is the 
sender of the letter. But that is not my object. In 
my case the habit is one that has been deliberately 
cultivated—not in reference to letters only, but to 
everything that comes into my hands—the habit of 
allowing nothing to pass without a certain amount 
of conscious attention. The observant man is, in 
reality, the attentive man, and the so-called power 
of observation is simply the capacity for continuous 
attention. As a matter of fact, I have found in prac¬ 
tice, that the habit is a useful one even in reference 
to letters; more than once I have gleaned a hint from 
the outside of a letter that has proved valuable when 
applied to the contents. Here, for instance, is a 
letter which has been opened after being fastened up 
—apparently by the aid of steam. The envelope is 
soiled and rubbed, and smells faintly of stale 
tobacco, and has evidently been carried in a pocket 
along with a well-used pipe. Why should it have 


182 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


been opened? On reading it I perceive that it 
should have reached me two days ago, and that the 
date has been skilfully altered from the thirteenth 
to the fifteenth. The inference is that my corres¬ 
pondent has a highly untrustworthy clerk.” 

“But the correspondent may have carried the 
letter in his own pocket,” I objected. 

“Hardly,” replied Thorndyke. “He would not 
have troubled to steam his own letter open and 
close it again; he would have cut the envelope and 
addressed a fresh one. This the clerk could not do, 
because the letter was confidential and was ad¬ 
dressed in the principal’s handwriting. And the 
principal would have almost certainly added a post¬ 
script; and, moreover, he does not smoke. This, 
however, is all very obvious; but here is something 
rather more subtle which I have put aside for more 
detailed examination. What do you make of it?” 

He handed me a small parcel to which was at¬ 
tached by a string a typewritten address label, the 
back of which bore the printed inscription, “James 
Bartlett and Sons, Cigar Manufacturers, London 
and Havana.” 

“I am afraid,” said I, after turning the little 
packet over and examining every part of it minutely, 
“that this is rather too subtle for me. The only 
thing that I observe is that the typewriter has 
bungled the address considerably. Otherwise this 
seems to me a very ordinary packet indeed.” 

“Well, you have observed one point of interest, 


MURDER BY POST 


183 


at any rate,” said Thorndyke, taking the packet 
from me. “But let us examine the thing systematic¬ 
ally and note down what we see. In the first place, 
you will notice that the label is an ordinary luggage 
label such as you may buy at any stationer’s, with 
its own string attached. Now, manufacturers com¬ 
monly use a different and more substantial pattern, 
which is attached by the string of the parcel. But 
that is a small matter. What is much more striking 
is the address on the label. It is typewritten and, 
as you say, typed very badly. Do you know anything 
about typewriters?” 

“Very little.” 

“Then you do not recognise the machine? Well, 
this label was typed with a Blickensderfer—an ex¬ 
cellent machine, but not the form most commonly 
selected for the rough work of a manufacturer’s 
office; but we will let that pass. The important 
point is this: the Blickensderfer Company make 
several forms of machine, the smallest and lightest 
of which is the literary, specially designed for the 
use of journalists and men of letters. Now this 
label was typed with the literary machine, or, at 
least, with the literary typewheel; which is really a 
very remarkable circumstance indeed.” 

“How do you know that?” I asked. 

“By this asterisk, which has been written by mis¬ 
take, the inexpert operator having pressed down 
the figure lever instead of the one for capitals. The 
literary typewheel is the only one that has an aster- 


184 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


isk, as I noticed when I was thinking of purchasing 
a machine. Here, then, we have a very striking 
fact, for even if a manufacturer chose to use a ‘Blick’ 
in his factory, it is inconceivable that he should 
select the literary form in preference to the more 
suitable ‘commercial’ machine.” 

“Yes,” I agreed; “it is certainly very singular.” 

“And now,” pursued Thorndyke, “to consider the 
writing itself. It has been done by an absolute be¬ 
ginner. He has failed to space in two places, he 
has written five wrong letters, and he has written 
figures instead of capitals in two instances.” 

“Yes; he has made a shocking muddle of it. I 
wonder he didn’t throw the label away and type 
another.” 

“Precisely,” said Thorndyke. “And if we wish 
to find out why he did not, we have only to look at 
the back of the label. You see that the name of the 
firm, instead of being printed on the label itself in 
the usual manner, is printed on a separate slip of 
paper which is pasted on the label—a most foolish 
and clumsy arrangement, involving an immense 
waste of time. But if we look closely at the printed 
slip itself we perceive something still more remark¬ 
able ; for that slip has been cut down to fit the label, 
and has been cut with a pair of scissors. The edges 
are not quite straight, and in one place the ‘overlap,’ 
which is so characteristic of the cut made with 
scissors, can be seen quite plainly.” 

He handed the packet to me with a reading-lens, 


MURDER BY POST 135 

through which I could distinctly make out the points 
he had mentioned. 

“Now I need not point out to you,” he continued, 
“that these slips would, ordinarily, have been 
trimmed by the printer to the correct size in his 
machine, which would leave an absolutely true edge; 
nor need I say that no sane business man would 
adopt such a device as this. The slip of paper has 
been cut with scissors to fit the label, and it has then 
been pasted on to the surface that it has been made 
to fit, when all this waste of time and trouble— 
which, in practice, means money—could have been 
saved by printing the name on the label itself.” 

“Yes, that is so; but I still do not see why the 
fellow should not have thrown away this label and 
typed another.” 

“Look at the slip again,” said Thorndyke. “It 
is faintly but evenly discoloured and, to me has the 
appearance of having been soaked in water. Let 
us, for the moment, assume that it has been. That 
would look as if it had been removed from some 
other package, which again would suggest that the 
person using it had only the one slip, which he had 
soaked off the original package, dried, cut down and 
pasted on the present label. If he pasted it on before 
typing the address—which he would most probably 
have done—he might well be unwilling to risk 
destroying it by soaking it a second time.” 

“You think, then, there is a suspicion that the 
package may have been tampered with?” 


186 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“There is no need to jump to conclusions,” replied 
Thorndyke. “I merely gave this case as an instance 
showing that careful examination of the outside of 
a package or letter may lead us to bestow a little 
extra attention on the contents. Now let us open 
it and see what those contents are.” 

With a sharp knife he divided the outside cover, 
revealing a stout cardboard box wrapped in a num¬ 
ber of advertisement sheets. The box, when the lid 
was raised, was seen to contain a single cigar—a 
large cheroot—packed in cotton wool. 

“A ‘Trichy,’ by Jove!” I exclaimed. “Your own 
special fancy, Thorndyke.” 

“Yes; and another anomaly, at once, you see, 
which might have escaped our notice if we had not 
been on the qui vive” 

“As a matter of fact, I don’t see,” said I. “You 
will think me an awful blockhead, but I don’t per¬ 
ceive anything singular in a cigar manufacturer send¬ 
ing a sample cigar.” 

“You read the label, I think?” replied Thorn¬ 
dyke. “However, let us look at one of these leaflets 
and see what they say. Ah! here we are: ‘Messrs. 
Bartlett and Sons, who own extensive plantations 
on the island of Cuba, manufacture their cigars ex¬ 
clusively from selected leaves grown by themselves.’ 
They would hardly make a Trichinopoly cheroot 
from leaf grown in the West Indies, so we have 
here a striking anomaly of an East Indian cigar sent 
to us by a West Indian grower.” 


MURDER BY POST 


187 


“And what do you infer from that?” 

“Principally that this cigar—which, by the way, 
is an uncommonly fine specimen and which I would 
not smoke for ten thousand pounds—is deserving 
of very attentive examination.” He produced from 
his pocket a powerful doublet lens with the aid of 
which he examined every part of the surface of the 
cigar, and finally, both ends. 

“Look at the small end,” he said, handing me 
the cigar and the lens, “and tell me if you notice 
anything.” 

I focussed the lens on the flush-cut surface of 
closely-rolled leaf, and explored every part of it 
minutely. 

“It seems to me,” I said, “that the leaf is opened 
slightly in the centre, as if a fine wire had been passed 
up it.” 

“So it appeared to me,” replied Thorndyke; “and, 
as we are in agreement so far, we will carry our 
investigations a step further.” 

He laid the cigar down on the table, and, with the 
keen, thin-bladed penknife, neatly divided it length¬ 
wise into two halves. 

“Ecce signum!” exclaimed Thorndyke, as the two 
parts fell asunder; and for a few moments we stood 
silently regarding the dismembered cheroot. For, 
about half an inch from the small end, there 
appeared a little circular patch of white, chalky 
naterial which, by the even manner in which it was 


188 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


diffused among the leaf, had evidently been deposited 
from a solution. 

“Our ingenious friend again, I surmise,” said 
Thorndyke at length, taking up one of the halves 
and examining the white patch through his lens. 
“A thoughtful soul, Jervis, and original too. I wish 
his talents could be applied in some other direction. 
I shall have to remonstrate with him if he becomes 
troublesome.” 

“It is your duty to society, Thorndyke,” I ex¬ 
claimed passionately, “to have this infernal, cold¬ 
blooded scoundrel arrested instantly. Such a man 
is a standing menace to the community. Do you 
really know who sent this thing?” 

“I can form a pretty shrewd guess, which, how¬ 
ever, is not quite the same thing. But, you see, he 
has not been quite so clever this time, for he has left 
one or two traces by which his identity might be 
ascertained.” 

“Indeed! What traces has he left?” 

“Ah! now there is a nice little problem for us to 
consider.” He settled himself in his easy chair and 
proceeded to fill his pipe with the air of a man who 
is about to discuss a matter of merely general inter¬ 
est. 

“Let us consider what information this ingenious 
person has given us about himself. In the first place, 
he evidently has a strong interest in my immediate 
decease. Now, why should he feel so urgent a desire 
for my death? Can it be a question of property? 


MURDER BY POST 


189 


Hardly; for I am far from a rich man, and the pro¬ 
visions of my will are known to me alone. Can it 
then be a question of private enmity or revenge? I 
think not. To the best of my belief I have no private 
enemies whatever. There remains only my vocation 
as an investigator in the fields of legal and criminal 
research. His interest in my death must, therefore, 
be connected with my professional activities. Now, 
I am at present conducting an exhumation which 
may lead to a charge of murder; but if I were to die 
to-night the inquiry would be carried out with equal 
efficiency by Professor Spicer or some other toxico¬ 
logist. My death would not affect the prospects of 
the accused. And so in one or two other cases that 
I have in hand; they could be equally well conducted 
by someone else. The inference is that our friend 
is not connected with any of these cases, but that he 
believes me to possess some exclusive information 
concerning him—believes me to be the one person 
in the world who suspects and can convict him. 
Let us assume the existence of such a person—a 
person of whose guilt I alone have evidence. Now 
this person, being unaware that I have communi¬ 
cated my knowledge to a third party, would reason¬ 
ably suppose that by making away with me he had 
put himself in a position of security. 

“Here, then, is our first point. The sender of this 
offering is probably a person concerning whom I 
hold certain exclusive information. 

“But see, now, the interesting corollary that 


190 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


follows from this. I, alone, suspect this person; 
therefore I have not published my suspicions, or 
others would suspect him too. Why, then, does he 
suspect me of suspecting him, since I have not 
spoken? Evidently, he too must be in possession 
of exclusive information. In other words, my sus¬ 
picions are correct; for if they were not, he could not 
be aware of their existence. 

“The next point is the selection of this rather 
unusual type of cigar. Why should he have sent 
a Trichinopoly instead of an ordinary Havana such 
as Bartletts actually manufacture? It looks as if he 
were aware of my peculiar predilection, and, by thus 
consulting my personal tastes, had guarded against 
the chance of my giving the cigar to some other 
person. We may, therefore, infer that our friend 
probably has some knowledge of my habits. 

“The third point is, What is the social standing 
of this gentle stranger, whom we will call X? Now, 
Bartletts do not send their advertisements and 
samples to Thomas, Richard and Henry. They 
send, chiefly, to members of the professions and men 
of means and position. It is true that the original 
package might have been annexed by a clerk, office 
boy or domestic servant; but the probabilities are 
that X received the package himself, and this is 
borne out by the fact that he was able to obtain 
access to a powerful alkaloidal poison—such as this 
undoubtedly is.” 


MURDER BY POST 191 

“In that case he would probably be a medical 
man or a chemist,” I suggested. 

“Not necessarily,” replied Thorndyke. “The 
laws relating to poisons are so badly framed and 
administered that any well-to-do person, who has 
the necessary knowledge, can obtain almost any 
poison that he wants. But social position is an im¬ 
portant factor, whence we may conclude that X be¬ 
longs, at least, to the middle class. 

“The fourth point relates to the personal quali¬ 
ties of X. Now it is evident, from this instance 
alone, that he is a man of exceptional intelligence, 
of considerable general information, and both in¬ 
genious and resourceful. This cigar device is not 
only clever and original, but it has been adapted to 
the special circumstances with remarkable fore¬ 
thought. Thus the cheroot was selected, apparently, 
for two excellent reasons: first, that it was the most 
likely form to be smoked by the person intended, and 
second, that it did not require to have the end cut 
off—which might have led to a discovery of the 
poison. The plan also shows a certain knowledge of 
chemistry; the poison was not intended merely to 
be dissolved in the moisture of the mouth. The 
idea evidently was that the steam generated by the 
combustion of the leaf at the distal end, would con¬ 
dense in the cooler part of the cigar and dissolve 
the poison, and the solution would then be drawn 
into the mouth. Then the nature of the poison and 
certain similarities of procedure seem to identify 


192 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


X with the cyclist who used that ingenious bullet. 
The poison in this case is a white, non-crystalline 
solid; the poison contained in the bullet was a solu¬ 
tion of a white, non-crystalline solid, which analysis 
showed to be the most poisonous of all akaloids. 

“The bullet was virtually a hypodermic syringe; 
the poison in this cigar has been introduced, in the 
form of an alcoholic or ethereal solution, by a hypo¬ 
dermic syringe. We shall thus be justified in assum¬ 
ing that the bullet and the cigar came from the same 
person; and, if this be so, we may say that X is a 
person of considerable knowledge, of great ingenuity 
and no mean skill as a mechanician—as shown by 
the manufacture of the bullet. 

“These are our principal facts—to which we may 
add the surmise that he has recently purchased a 
second-hand Blickensderfer of the literary form or, 
at least, fitted with a literary typewheel.” 

“I don’t quite see how you arrive at that,” I said, 
in some surprise. 

“It is merely a guess, you know,” he replied, 
“though a probable one. In the first place he is 
obviously unused to typing, as the numerous mis¬ 
takes show; therefore he has not had the machine 
very long. The type is that which is peculiar to the 
Blickensderfer, and, in one of the mistakes, an 
asterisk has been printed in place of a letter. But 
the literary typewheel is the only one that has the 
asterisk. As to the age of the machine, there are 
evident signs of wear, for some of the letters have 


MURDER BY POST 


193 


lost their sharpness, and this is most evident in the 
case of those letters which are the most used—the 
‘e,’ you will notice, for instance, is much worn; and 
‘e’ occurs more frequently than any other letter of 
the alphabet. Hence the machine, if recently pur¬ 
chased, was bought second-hand.” 

“But,” I objected, “it may not have been his own 
machine at all.” 

“That is quite possible,” answered Thorndyke, 
“though, considering the secrecy that would be 
necessary, the probabilities are in favour of his hav¬ 
ing bought it. But, in any case, we have here a 
means of identifying the machine, should we ever 
meet with it.” 

He picked up the label and handed it to me, to¬ 
gether with his pocket lens. 

“Look closely at the V that we have been dis¬ 
cussing; it occurs five times; in ‘Thorndyke,’ in 
‘Bench,’ in ‘Inner,’ and in ‘Temple.’ Now in each 
case you will notice a minute break in the loop, just 
at the summit. That break corresponds to a tiny 
dent in the type—caused, probably, by its striking 
some small, hard object.” 

“I can make it out quite distinctly,” I said, “and 
it should be a most valuable point for identification.” 

“It should be almost conclusive,” Thorndyke 
replied, “especially when joined to other facts that 
would be elicited by a search of his premises. And 
now let us just recapitulate the facts which our friend 
X has placed at our disposal. 


194 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“First: X is a person concerning whom I possess 
certain exclusive information. 

“Second: He has some knowledge of my personal 
habits. 

“Third: He is a man of some means and social 
position. 

“Fourth: He is a man of considerable knowledge, 
ingenuity and mechanical skill. 

“Fifth: He has probably purchased, quite recent¬ 
ly, a second-hand ‘Blick’ fitted with a literary type- 
wheel. 

“Sixth: That machine, whether his own or some 
other person’s property, can be identified by a char¬ 
acteristic mark on the small ‘e.’ 

“If you will note down those six points and add 
that X is probably an expert cyclist and a fairly good 
shot with a rifle, you may possibly be able, presently, 
to complete the equation, X = ?” 

“I am afraid,” I said, “I do not possess the neces¬ 
sary data; but I suspect you do, and if it is so, I 
repeat that it is your duty to society—to say nothing 
of your clients, whose interests would suffer by your 
death—to have this fellow laid by the heels before 
he does any mischief.” 

“Yes; I shall have to interfere if he becomes 
really troublesome, but I have reasons for wishing 
to leave him alone at present.” 

“You do really know who he is, then?” 

“Well, I think I can solve the equation that I 
have just offered to you for solution. You see, 


MURDER BY POST 


195 


I have certain data, as you suggest, which you do 
not possess. There is, for instance, a certain ingeni¬ 
ous gentleman concerning whom I hold what I be¬ 
lieve to be exclusive information, and my knowledge 
of him does not make it appear unlikely that he 
might be the author of these neat little plans.” 

“I am much impressed,” I said, as I put away my 
notebook, after having jotted down the points that 
Thorndyke had advised me to consider—“I am much 
impressed by your powers of observation and your 
capacity for reasoning from apparently trivial data; 
but I do not see, even now, why you viewed that 
cigar with such immediate and decided suspicion. 
There was nothing actually to suggest the existence 
of poison in it, and yet you seemed to form the sus¬ 
picion at once and to search for it as though you 
expected to find it.” 

“Yes,” replied Thorndyke; “to a certain extent 
you are right. The idea of a poisoned cigar was 
not new to me—and thereby hangs a tale.” 

He laughed softly and gazed into the fire with 
eyes that twinkled with quiet amusement. “You 
have heard me say,” he resumed, after a short pause, 
“that when I first took these chambers I had practi¬ 
cally nothing to do. I had invented a new variety 
of medico-legal practice and had to build it up by 
slow degrees, and the natural consequence was that, 
for a long time, it yielded nothing but almost un¬ 
limited leisure. Now, that leisure was by no means 
wasted, for I employed it in considering the class 


196 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


of cases in which I was likely to be employed, and in 
working out theoretical examples; and seeing that 
crimes against the person have nearly always a 
strong medical interest, I gave them special atten¬ 
tion. For instance, I planned a series of murders, 
selecting royal personages and great ministers as the 
victims, and on each murder I brought to bear all 
the special knowledge, skill and ingenuity at my com¬ 
mand. I inquired minutely into the habits of my 
hypothetical victims; ascertained who were their 
associates, friends, enemies and servants; considered 
their diet, their residences, their modes of convey¬ 
ance, the source of their clothing and, in fact, every¬ 
thing which it was necessary to know in order to 
achieve their deaths with certainty and with absolute 
safety to the murderer.” 

“How deeply gratified and flattered those great 
personages would have felt,” I remarked, “if they 
had known how much attention they were receiving.” 

“Yes; I suppose it would have been somewhat 
startling, to the Prime Minister, for instance, to 
have learned that he was being watched and studied 
by an attentive observer and that the arrangements 
for his decease had been completed down to the 
minutest detail. But, of course, the application of 
the method to a particular case was the essential 
thing, for it brought into view all the incidental diffi¬ 
culties, in meeting which all the really interesting and 
instructive details were involved. Well, the partic¬ 
ulars of these crimes I wrote out at length, in my 


MURDER BY POST 


197 


private shorthand, in a journal which I kept for the 
purpose—and which, I need not say, I locked up 
securely in my safe when I was not using it. After 
completing each case, it was my custom to change 
sides and play the game over again from the opposite 
side of the board; that is to say, I added, as an 
appendix to each case, an analysis with a complete 
scheme for the detection of the crime. I have in 
my safe at the present moment six volumes of cases, 
fully indexed; and I can assure you that they are not 
only highly instructive reading, but are really val¬ 
uable as works of reference.” 

“That I can readily believe,” I replied, laughing 
heartily, nevertheless, at the grotesqueness of the 
whole proceeding, “though they might have proved 
rather incriminating documents if they had passed 
out of your possession.” 

“They would never have been read,” rejoined 
Thorndyke. “My shorthand is, I think, quite un¬ 
decipherable; it has been so made intentionally with 
a view to secrecy.” 

“And have any of your theoretical cases ever 
turned up in real life?” 

“Several of them have, though very imperfectly 
planned and carried out as a rule. The poisoned 
cigar is one of them, though, of course I should never 
have adopted such a conspicuous device for present¬ 
ing it; and the incident of the other night is a modifi¬ 
cation—for the worse—of another. In fact, most 
of the intricate and artistic crimes with which I have 


198 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


had to deal professionally have had their more com¬ 
plete and elaborate prototypes in my journals.” 

I was silent for some time, reflecting on the 
strange personality of my gifted friend and the 
singular fitness that he presented for the part he had 
chosen to play in the drama of social life; but pres¬ 
ently my thoughts returned to the peril that over¬ 
shadowed him, and I came back, once more, to my 
original question. 

“And now, Thorndyke,” I said, “that you have 
penetrated both the motives and the disguise of this 
villain, what are you going to do? Is he to be put 
safely under lock and key, or is he to be left in peace 
and security to plan some other, and perhaps more 
successful, scheme for your destruction?” 

“For the present,” replied Thorndyke, “I am go¬ 
ing to put these things in a place of safety. To¬ 
morrow you shall come with me to the hospital and 
see me place the ends of the cigar in the custody of 
Dr. Chandler, who will make an analysis and re¬ 
port on the nature of the poison. After that we 
shall act in whatever way seems best.” 

Unsatisfactory as this conclusion appeared, I 
knew it was useless to raise further objections, and, 
accordingly, when the cigar with its accompanying 
papers and wrappings had been deposited in a 
drawer, we dismissed it, if not from our thoughts, 
at least from our conversation. 


CHAPTER XIV 


A STARTLING DISCOVERY 
HE morning of the trial, so long looked for¬ 



ward to, had at length arrived, and the train 


of events which it has been my business to 
chronicle in this narrative was now fast drawing to 
an end. To me those events had been in many ways 
of the deepest moment. Not only had they trans¬ 
ported me from a life of monotonous drudgery into 
one charged with novelty and dramatic interest; 
not only had they introduced me to a renascence of 
scientific culture and revived under new conditions 
my intimacy with the comrade of my student days; 
but; far more momentous than any of these, they 
had given me the vision—all too fleeting—of happi¬ 
ness untold, with the reality of sorrow and bitter 
regret that promised to be all too enduring. 

Whence it happened that on this morning my 
thoughts were tinged with a certain greyness. A 
chapter in my life that had been both bitter and 
sweet was closing, and already I saw myself once 
more an Ishmaelite and a wanderer among strangers. 


199 


200 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


This rather egotistical frame of mind, however, 
was soon dispelled when I encountered Polton; for 
the little man was in a veritable twitter of excite¬ 
ment at the prospect of witnessing the clearing up 
of the mysteries that had so severely tried his curi¬ 
osity; and even Thorndyke, beneath his habitual 
calm, showed a trace of expectancy and pleasurable 
anticipation. 

“I have taken the liberty of making certain little 
arrangements on your behalf,” he said, as we sat at 
breakfast, “of which I hope you will not disapprove. 
I have written to Mrs. Hornby, who is one of the 
witnesses, to say that you will meet her at Mr. 
Lawley’s office and escort her and Miss Gibson to 
the court. Walter Hornby may be with them, and, 
if he is, you had better leave him, if possible, to come 
on with Lawley.” 

“You will not come to the office, then?” 

“No. I shall go straight to the court with 
Anstey. Besides, I am expecting Superintendent 
Miller from Scotland Yard, who will probably walk 
down with us.” 

“I am glad to hear that,” I said; “for I have been 
rather uneasy at the thought of your mixing in the 
crowd without some kind of protection.” 

“Well, you see that I am taking precautions 
against the assault of the too-ingenious X, and, to 
tell the truth—and also to commit a flagrant bull— 
I should never forgive myself if I allowed him to 
kill me before I had completed Reuben Hornby’s 


A STARTLING DISCOVERY 


201 


defence. Ah, here is Polton—that man is on wires 
this morning; he has been wandering in and out 
of the rooms ever since he came, like a cat in a new 
house.” 

“It’s quite true, sir,’’ said Polton, smiling and un¬ 
abashed, “so it’s no use denying it. I have come 
to ask what we are going to take with us to the 
court.” 

“You will find a box and a portfolio on the table 
in my room,” replied Thorndyke. “We had better 
also take a microscope and the micrometers, though 
we are not likely to want them; that is all, I think.” 

“A box and a portfolio,” repeated Polton in a 
speculative tone. “Yes, sir, I will take them with 
me.” He opened the door and was about to pass 
out, when, perceiving a visitor ascending the stairs, 
he turned back. 

“Here’s Mr. Miller, from Scotland Yard, sir; 
shall I show him in?” 

“Yes, do.” He rose from his chair as a tall, 
military-looking man entered the room and saluted, 
casting, at the same time, an inquiring glance in my 
direction. 

“Good morning, Doctor,” he said briskly “I got 
your letter and couldn’t make much of it, but I have 
brought down a couple of plain-clothes men and a 
uniform man, as you suggested. I understand you 
want a house watched?” 

“Yes, and a man, too. I will give you the par- 


202 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


ticulars presently—that is, if you think you can agree 
to my conditions.” 

“That I act entirely on my own account and make 
no communication to anybody? Well, of course, I 
would rather you gave me all the facts and let me 
proceed in the regular way; but if you make condi¬ 
tions I have no choice but to accept them, seeing that 
you hold the cards.” 

Perceiving that the matter in hand was of a con¬ 
fidential nature, I thought it best to take my depar¬ 
ture, which I accordingly did, as soon as I had 
ascertained that it wanted yet half-an-hour to the 
time at which Mrs. Hornby and Juliet were due at 
the lawyer’s office. 

Mr. Lawley received me with stiffness that 
bordered on hostility. He was evidently deeply 
offended at the subordinate part that he had been 
compelled to play in the case, and was at no great 
pains to conceal the fact. 

“I am informed,” said he, in a frosty tone, when 
I had explained my mission, “that Mrs. Hornby and 
Miss Gibson are to meet you here. The arrange¬ 
ment is none of my making; none of the arrange¬ 
ments in this case are of my making. I have been 
treated throughout with a lack of ceremony and 
confidence that is positively scandalous. Even now, 
I—the solicitor for the defence—am completely in 
the dark as to what defence is contemplated, though 
I fully expect to be involved in some ridiculous 
fiasco. I only trust that I may never again be associ- 


A STARTLING DISCOVERY 


203 


ated with any of your hybrid practitioners. Ne sutor 
ultra crepidam, sir, is an excellent motto; let the 
medical cobbler stick to his medical last.” 

“It remains to be seen what kind of boot he can 
turn out on the legal last,” I retorted. 

“That is so,” he rejoined; “but I hear Mrs. Horn¬ 
by’s voice in the outer office, and as neither you nor 
I have any time to waste in idle talk, I suggest that 
you make your way to the court without delay. I 
wish you good morning!” 

Acting on this very plain hint, I retired to the 
clerk’s office, where I found Mrs. Hornby and Juliet, 
the former undisguisedly tearful and terrified, and 
the latter calm, though pale and agitated. 

“We had better start at once,” I said, when we 
had exchanged greetings. “Shall we take a cab, or 
walk?” 

“I think we will walk, if you don’t mind,” said 
Juliet. “Mrs. Hornby wants to have a few words 
with you before we go into court. You see, she is 
one of the witnesses, and she is terrified lest she 
should say something damaging to Reuben.” 

“By whom was the subpoena served?” I asked. 

“Mr. Lawley sent it,” replied Mrs. Hornby, “and 
I went to see him about it the very next day, but he 
wouldn’t tell me anything—he didn’t seem to know 
what I was wanted for, and he wasn’t at all nice— 
not at all.” 

“I expect your evidence will relate to the 
‘Thumbograph,’ ” I said. “There is really nothing 


204 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


else in connection with the case that you have any 
knowledge of.” 

“That is just what Walter said,” exclaimed Mrs. 
Hornby. “I went to his rooms to talk the matter 
over with him. He is very upset about the whole 
affair, and I am afraid he thinks very badly of poor 
Reuben’s prospects. I only trust he may be wrong! 
Oh dear! What a dreadful thing it is, to be sure!” 
Here the poor lady halted to mop her eyes elabor¬ 
ately, to the surprise and manifest scorn of a passing 
errand boy. 

“He was very thoughtful and sympathetic— 
Walter, I mean, you know,” pursued Mrs. Hornby, 
“and most helpful. He asked me all I knew about 
that horrid little book, and took down my answers in 
writing. Then he wrote out the questions I was 
likely to be asked, with my answers, so that I could 
read them over and get them well into my head. 
Wasn’t it good of him! And I made him print them 
with his machine so that I could read them without 
my glasses, and he did it beautifully. I have the 
paper in my pocket now.” 

“I didn’t know Mr. Walter went in for printing,” 
I said. “Has he a regular printing press?” 

“It isn’t a printing press exactly,” replied Mrs. 
Hornby; “it is a small thing with a lot of round 
keys that you press down—Dickensblerfer, I think 
it is called—ridiculous name isn’t is? Walter 
bought it from one of his literary friends about a 
week ago; but he is getting quite clever with it al- 


A STARTLING DISCOVERY 205 

ready, though he does make a few mistakes still, as 
you can see.” 

She halted' again, and began to search for the 
opening of a pocket which was hidden away in some 
occult recess of her clothing, all unconscious of the 
effect that her explanation had produced on me. 
For, instantly, as she spoke, there flashed into my 
mind one of the points that Thorndyke had given me 
for the identification of the mysterious X. “He has 
probably purchased, quite recently, a second-hand 
Blickensderfer, fitted with a literary typewheel.” 
The coincidence was striking and even startling, 
though a moment’s reflection convinced me that it 
was nothing more than a coincidence; for there must 
be hundreds of second-hand “Blicks” on the market, 
and, as to Walter Hornby, he certainly could have no 
quarrel with Thorndyke, but would rather be inter¬ 
ested in his preservation on Reuben’s account. 

These thoughts passed through my mind so rapid¬ 
ly that by the time Mrs. Hornby had run her pocket 
to earth I had quite recovered from the momentary 
shock. 

“Ah! here it is,” she exclaimed triumphantly, pro¬ 
ducing an obese Morocco purse. “I put it in here 
for safety, knowing how liable one is to get one’s 
pocket picked in these crowded London streets.” 
She opened the bulky receptacle and drew it out 
after the manner of a concertina, exhibiting multi¬ 
tudinous partitions, all stuffed with pieces of paper, 
coils of tape and sewing silk, buttons, samples of 


206 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


dress materials and miscellaneous rubbish, mingled 
indiscriminately with gold, silver, and copper coins. 

“Now just run your eye through that, Dr. Jervis,” 
she said, handing me a folded paper, “and give me 
your advice on my answers.” 

I opened the paper and read: “The Committee of 
the Society for the Protection of Paralysed Idiots, 
in submitting this-” 

“Oh! that isn’t it; I have given you the wrong 
paper. How silly of me! That is the appeal of— 
you remember, Juliet, dear, that troublesome person 
—I had, really, to be quite rude, you know, Dr. 
Jervis; I had to tell him that charity begins at home, 
although, thank Heaven! none of us are paralysed, 
but we must consider our own, mustn’t we? And 
then-” 

“Do you think this is the one, dear?” interposed 
Juliet, in whose pale cheek the ghost of a dimple 
had appeared. “It looks cleaner than most of the 
others.” 

She selected a folded paper from the purse which 
Mrs. Hornby was holding with both hands extended 
to its utmost, as though she were about to produce a 
burst of music, and, opening it, glanced at its con¬ 
tents. 

“Yes, this is your evidence,” she said, and passed 
the paper to me. 

I took the document from her hand and, in spite 
of the conclusion at which I had arrived, examined it 
with eager curiosity. And at the very first glance 




A STARTLING DISCOVERY 207 


I felt my head swim and my heart throb violently. 
For the paper was headed: “Evidence respecting 
the Thumbograph,” and in every one of the five 
small “e’s n that occurred in that sentence I could 
see plainly by the strong out-door light a small break 
or interval in the summit of the loop. 

I was thunderstruck. 

One coincidence was quite possible and even prob¬ 
able; but the two together, and the second one of 
so remarkable a character, were beyond all reason¬ 
able limits of probability. The identification did 
not seem to admit of a doubt, and yet- 

“Our legal adviser appears to be somewhat pre¬ 
occupied,” remarked Juliet, with something of her 
old gaiety of manner ; and, in fact, though I held the 
paper in my hand, my gaze was fixed unmeaningly 
on an adjacent lamp-post. As she spoke, I pulled 
myself together, and, scanning the paper hastily, 
was fortunate enough to find in the first paragraph 
matter requiring comment. 

“I observe, Mrs. Hornby,” I said, “that in answer 
to the first question, ‘Whence did you obtain the 
“Thumbograph” ?’ you say, ‘I do not remember 
clearly; I think I must have bought it at a railway 
bookstall.’ Now I understood that it was brought 
home and given to you by Walter himself.” 

“That was what I thought,” replied Mrs. Hornby, 
“but Walter tells me that it was not so, and, of 
course, he would remember better than I should.” 

“Rut, my dear aunt, I am sure he gave it to you,” 



208 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


interposed Juliet. “Don’t you remember? It was 
the night the Colleys came to dinner, and we were 
so hard pressed to find amusement for them, when 
Walter came in and produced the ‘Thumbograph.’ ” 

“Yes, I remember quite well now,” said Mrs. 
Hornby. “How fortunate that you reminded me. 
We must alter that answer at once.” 

“If I were you, Mrs. Hornby,” I said, “I would 
disregard this paper altogether. It will only confuse 
you and get you into difficulties. Answer the ques¬ 
tions that are put, as well as you can, and if you 
don’t remember, say so.” 

“Yes, that will be much the wisest plan,” said 
Juliet. “Let Dr. Jervis take charge of the paper 
and rely on your own memory.” 

“Very well, my dear,” replied Mrs. Hornby, “I 
will do what you think best, and you can keep the 
paper, Dr. Jervis, or throw it away.” 

I slipped the document into my pocket without 
remark, and we proceeded on our way, Mrs. Hornby 
babbling inconsequently, with occasional outbursts 
of emotion, and Juliet silent and abstracted. I 
struggled to concentrate my attention on the elder 
lady’s conversation, but my thoughts continually 
reverted to the paper in my pocket, and the startling 
solution that it seemed to offer of the mystery of the 
poisoned cigar. 

Could it be that Walter Hornby was in reality the 
miscreant X? The thing seemed incredible, for, 
hitherto, no shadow of suspicion had appeared to 


A STARTLING DISCOVERY 


209 


fall on him. And yet there was no denying that his 
description tallied in a very remarkable manner with 
that of the hypothetical X. He was a man of some 
means and social position; he was a man of con¬ 
siderable knowledge and mechanical skill, though as 
to his ingenuity I could not judge. He had recently 
bought a second-hand Blickensderfer which probably 
had a literary typewheel, since it was purchased from 
a literary man; and that machine showed the charac¬ 
teristic mark on the small “e.” The two remaining 
points, indeed, were not so clear. Obviously I could 
form no opinion as to whether or not Thorndyke 
held any exclusive information concerning him, and, 
with reference to his knowledge of my friend’s 
habits, I was at first inclined to be doubtful until I 
suddenly recalled, with a pang of remorse and self¬ 
accusation, the various details that I had communi¬ 
cated to Juliet and that she might easily, in all inno¬ 
cence, have handed on to Walter. I I had, for in¬ 
stance, told her of Thorndyke’s preference for the 
Trichinopoly cheroot, and of this she might very 
naturally have spoken to Walter, who possessed a 
supply of them. Again, with regard to the time of 
our arrival at King’s Cross, I had informed her of 
this in a letter which was in no way confidential, and 
again there was no reason why the information 
should not have been passed on to Walter, who 
was to have been one of the party at the family 
dinner. The coincidence seemed complete enough, 
in all truth; yet it was incredible that Reuben’s cousin 


210 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


could be so blackhearted a villain or could have any 
motive for these dastardly crimes. 

Suddenly a new idea struck me. Mrs. Hornby 
had obtained access to this typewriting machine; 
and if Mrs. Hornby could do so, why not John 
Hornby? The description would, for the most part, 
fit the elder man as well as the younger, though I had 
no evidence of his possessing any special mechanical 
skill; but my suspicions had already fastened upon 
him, and I remembered that Thorndyke had by no 
means rejected my theory which connected him with 
the crime. 

At this point, my reflections were broken in upon 
by Mrs. Hornby, who grasped my arm and uttered 
a deep groan. We had reached the corner of the 
Old Bailey, and before us were the frowning walls of 
Newgate. Within those walls, I knew—though I 
did not mention the fact—that Reuben Hornby was 
confined with the other prisoners who were awaiting 
their trial; and a glance at the massive masonry, 
stained to a dingy grey by the grime of the city, put 
an end to my speculations and brought me back to 
the drama that was so nearly approaching its climax. 

Down the old thoroughfare, crowded with so 
many memories of hideous tragedy; by the side of 
the gloomy prison; past the debtors’ door with its 
forbidding spiked wicket; past the gallows gate with 
its festoons of fetters; we walked in silence until we 
reached the entrance to the Sessions House. 

Here I was not a little relieved to find Thorndyke 


A STARTLING DISCOVERY 211 


on the look-out for us, for Mrs. Hornby, in spite of 
really heroic efforts to control her emotion, was in a 
state of impending hysteria, while Juliet, though 
outwardly calm and composed, showed by the waxen 
pallor of her cheeks and a certain wildness of her 
eyes that all her terror was reviving; and I was glad 
that they were spared the unpleasantness of contact 
with the policemen who guarded the various 
entrances. 

“We must be brave,” said Thorndyke gently, as 
he took Mrs. Hornby’s hand, “and show a cheerful 
face to our friend who has so much to bear and who 
bears it so patiently. A few more hours, and I hope 
we shall see restored, not only his liberty, but his 
honour. Here is Mr. Anstey, who, we trust, will be 
able to make his innocence apparent.” 

Anstey, who, unlike Thorndyke, had already 
donned his wig and gown, bowed gravely, and, to¬ 
gether, we passed through the mean and grimy 
portals into a dark hall. Policemen in uniform and 
unmistakable detectives stood about the various 
entries, and little knots of people, evil-looking and 
unclean for the most part, lurked in the background 
or sat on benches and diffused through the stale, 
musty air that distinctive but indescribable odour 
that clings to police vans and prison reception rooms; 
an odor that, in the present case, was pleasantly 
mingled with the suggestive aroma of disinfectants. 
Through the unsavory throng we hurried, and up 
a staircase to a landing from which several passages 


212 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


diverged. Into one of these passages—a sort of 
“dark entry,” furnished with a cage-like gate of 
iron bars—we passed to a black door, on which was 
painted the inscription, “Old Court. Counsel and 
clerks.” 

Anstey held the door open for us, and we passed 
through into the court, which at once struck me with 
a sense of disappointment. It was smaller than I 
had expected, and plain and mean to the point of 
sordidness. The woodwork was poor, thinly dis¬ 
guised by yellow graining, and slimy with dirt when¬ 
ever a dirty hand could reach it. The walls were 
distempered a pale, greenish grey; the floor was of 
bare and dirty planking, and the only suggestions of 
dignity or display were those offered by the canopy 
over the judge’s seat—lined with scarlet baize and 
surmounted by the royal arms—the scarlet cushions 
of the bench, and the large, circular clock in the 
gallery, which was embellished with a gilded border 
and asserted its importance by a loud, aggressive 
tick. 

Following Anstey and Thorndyke into the well of 
the court, we were ushered into one of the seats 
reserved for counsel—the third from the front— 
where we sat down and looked about us, while our 
two friends seated themselves in the front bench next 
to the central table. Here, at the extreme right, a 
barrister—presumably the counsel for the prosecu¬ 
tion—was already in his place and absorbed in the 
brief that lay on the desk before him. Straight be- 


A STARTLING DISCOVERY 213 


fore us were the seats for the jury, rising one above 
the other, and at their side the witness-box. Above 
us on the right was the judge’s seat, and immediately 
below it a structure somewhat resembling a large 
pew or a counting-house desk, surmounted by a brass 
rail, in which a person in a grey wig—the clerk of 
the court—was mending a quill pen. On our left 
rose the dock—suggestively large and roomy— 
enclosed at the sides with high glazed frames; and 
above it, near the ceiling, was the spectators’ gallery. 

“What a hideous place!” exclaimed Juliet, who 
separated me from Mrs. Hornby. “And how sordid 
and dirty everything looks!” 

“Yes,” I answered. “The uncleanness of the 
criminal is not confined to his moral being; wherever 
he goes, he leaves a trail of actual, physical dirt. It 
is not so long ago that the dock and the bench alike 
used to be strewn with medicinal herbs, and I believe 
the custom still survives of furnishing the judge with 
a nosegay as a preventive of jail-fever.” 

“And to think that Reuben should be brought to 
a place like this!” Juliet continued bitterly; “to be 
herded with such people as we saw downstairs!” 

She sighed and looked around at the benches that 
rose behind us, where a half-dozen reporters were 
already seated and apparently in high spirits at the 
prospect of a sensational case. 

Our conversation was now interrupted by the 
clatter of feet on the gallery stairs, and heads began 
to appear over the wooden parapet. Several junior 


214 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


counsel filed into the seats in front of us; Mr. Law- 
ley and his clerk entered the attorney’s bench; the 
ushers took their stand below the jury-box; a police 
officer seated himself at a desk in the dock; and 
inspectors, detectives and micellaneous officers began 
to gather in the entries or peer into the court through 
the small glazed openings in the doors. 


CHAPTER XV 

THE FINGER-PRINT EXPERTS 

T HE hum of conversation that had been grad¬ 
ually increasing as the court filled suddenly 
ceased. A door at the back of the dais was 
flung open; counsel solicitors, and spectators alike 
rose to their feet; and the judge entered, closely fol¬ 
lowed by the Lord Mayor, the sheriff, and various 
civic magnates, all picturesque and gorgeous in their 
robes and chains of office. The Clerk of Arraigns 
took his place behind his table under the dais; the 
counsel suspended their conversation and fingered 
their briefs; and, as the judge took his seat, lawyers, 
officials, and spectators took their seats, and all eyes 
were turned towards the dock. 

A few moments later Reuben Hornby appeared in 
the enclosure in company with a warder, the two 
rising, apparently, from the bowels of the earth, 
and, stepping forward to the bar, stood with a calm 
and self-possessed demeanor, glancing somewhat 
curiously around the court. For an instant his eye 
rested upon the group of friends and well-wishers 
215 


216 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


seated behind the counsel, and the faintest trace of 
a smile appeared on his face; but immediately he 
turned his eyes away and never again throughout 
the trial looked in our direction. 

The Clerk of Arraigns now rose and, reading 
from the indictment which lay before him on the 
table, addressed the prisoner— 

“Reuben Hornby, you stand indicted for that you 
did, on the ninth or tenth day of March, feloniously 
steal a parcel of diamonds of the goods and chattels 
of John Hornby. Are you guilty or not guilty?” 
“Not guilty,” replied Reuben. 

The Clerk of Arraigns, having noted the pris¬ 
oner’s reply, then proceeded— 

“The gentlemen whose names are about to be 
called will form the jury who are to try you. If you 
wish to object to any of them, you must do so as 
each comes to the book to be sworn, and before he 
is sworn. You will then be heard.” 

In acknowledgment of this address, which was 
delivered in clear, ringing tones, and with remark¬ 
able distinctness, Reuben bowed to the clerk, and the 
process of swearing-in the jury was commenced, 
while the counsel opened their briefs and the judge 
conversed facetiously with an official in a fur robe 
and a massive neck chain. 

Very strange, to unaccustomed eyes and ears, 
was the effect of this function—half solemn and half 
grotesque, with an effect intermediate between that 
of a religious rite and that of a comic opera. Above 


THE FINGER-PRINT EXPERTS 217 


the half-suppressed hum of conversation the clerk’s 
voice arose at regular intervals, calling out the name 
of one of the jurymen, and, as its owner stood up, 
the court usher, black-gowned and sacerdotal of 
aspect, advanced and profferd the^>ook. Theb. as 
the juryman took the volume in his hand, the voice 
of the usher resounded through the court like that 
of a priest intoning some refrain or antiphon—an 
effect that was increased by the rhythmical and 
archaic character of the formula— 

“Samuel Seppings!” 

A stolid-looking working-man rose and, taking 
the Testament in his hand, stood regarding the usher 
while that official sang out in a solemn monotone— 

“You shall well and truly try and true deliverance 
make between our Sovereign Lord the King and the 
prisoner at the bar, whom you shall have in charge, 
and a true verdict give according to the evidence. 
So help you God!” 

“James Piper!” Another juryman rose and was 
given the Book to hold; and again the monotonous 
sing-song arose— 

“You shall well and truly try and true deliverance 
make, etc.” 

“I shall scream aloud if that horrible chant goes 
on much longer,” Juliet whispered. “Why don’t 
they all swear at once and have done with it?” 

“That would not meet the requirements,” I an¬ 
swered. “However, there are only two more, so 
you must have patience.” 


218 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“And you will have patience with me, too, won’t 
you? I am horribly frightened. It is all so solemn 
and dreadful.” 

v “You must try to keep up your courage until Dr. 
Thorndyke ha» given his evidence,” I said. “Re¬ 
member that, until he has spoken, everything is 
against Reuben; so be prepared.” 

“I will try,” she answered meekly; “but I can’t 
help being terrified.” 

The last of the jurymen was at length sworn, and 
when the clerk had once more called out the names 
one by one, the usher counting loudly as each man 
answered to his name, the latter officer turned to the 
Court and spectators, and proclaimed in solemn 
tones— 

“If anyone can inform my lords the King’s 
justices, the King’s attorney-general, or the King’s 
serjeant, ere this inquest be now taken between our 
Sovereign Lord the King and the prisoner at the bar, 
of any treason, murder, felony or misdemeanor, 
committed or done by him, let him come forth and 
he shall be heard; for the prisoner stands at the bar 
upon his deliverance.” 

This proclamation was followed by a profound 
silence, and after a brief interval the Clerk of Ar¬ 
raigns turned towards the jury and addressed them 
collectively— 

“Gentlemen of the jury, the prisoner at the bar 
stands indicted by the name of Reuben Hornby, for 
that he, on the ninth or tenth of March, feloniously 


THE FINGER-PRINT EXPERTS 219 


did steal, take and carry away a parcel of diamonds 
of the goods of John Hornby. To this indictment 
he has pleaded that he is not guilty, and your charge 
is to inquire whether he be guilty or not and to 
hearken to the evidence.” 

When he had finished his address the clerk sat 
down, and the judge, a thin-faced, hollow-eyed 
elderly man, with bushy grey eyebrows and a very 
large nose, looked attentively at Reuben for some 
moments over the tops of his gold-rimmed pince-nez. 
Then he turned towards the counsel nearest the 
bench and bowed slightly. 

The barrister rose and bowed in return, and for 
the first time I obtained a complete view of Sir 
Hector Trumpler, K. C., the counsel for the prosecu¬ 
tion. His appearance was not prepossessing nor— 
though he was a large man and somewhat florid as to 
his countenance—particularly striking, except for a 
general air of untidiness. His gown was slipping 
off one shoulder, his wig was perceptibly awry, and 
his pince-nez threatened every moment to drop from 
his nose. 

“The case that I have to present to you, my lord 
and gentlemen of the jury,” he began in a clear, 
though unmusical voice, “is one the like of which 
is but too often met with in this court. It is one 
in which we shall see unbounded trust met by treach¬ 
erous deceit, in which we shall see countless benefac¬ 
tions rewarded by the basest ingratitude, and in 
which we shall witness the deliberate renunciation of 


220 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


a life of honorable effort in favor of the tortuous 
and precarious ways of the criminal. The facts of 
the case are briefly as follows: The prosecutor in 
this case—a most unwilling prosecutor, gentlemen— 
is Mr. John Hornby, who is a metallurgist and 
dealer in precious metals. Mr. Hornby has two 
nephews, the orphan sons of his two elder brothers, 
and I may tell you that since the decease of their 
parents he has acted the part of a father to both of 
them. One of these nephews is Mr. Walter Hornby, 
and the other is Reuben Hornby, the prisoner at 
the bar. Both of these nephews were received by 
Mr. Hornby into his business with a view to their 
succeeding him when he should retire, and both, I 
need not say, occupied positions of trust and 
responsibility. 

“Now, on the evening of the ninth of March there 
was delivered to Mr. Hornby a parcel of rough dia¬ 
monds of which one of his clients asked him to take 
charge pending their transfer to the brokers. I need 
not burden you with irrelevant details concerning 
this transaction. It will suffice to say that the dia¬ 
monds, which were of the aggregate value of about 
thirty thousand pounds, were delivered to him, and 
the unopened package deposited by him in his safe, 
together with a slip of paper on which he had writ¬ 
ten in pencil a memorandum of the circumstances. 
This was on the evening of the ninth of March, as I 
have said. Having deposited the parcel, Mr. Horn- 


THE FINGER-PRINT EXPERTS 221 


by locked the safe, and shortly afterwards left the 
premises and went home, taking the keys with him. 

“On the following morning, when he unlocked the 
safe, he perceived with astonishment and dismay 
that the parcel of diamonds had vanished. The 
slip of paper, however, lay at the bottom of the safe, 
and on picking it up Mr. Hornby perceived that it 
bore a smear of blood, and in addition, the distinct 
impression of a human thumb. On this he closed 
and locked the safe and sent a note to the police 
station, in response to which a very intelligent officer 
—Inspector Sanderson—came and made a prelim¬ 
ary examination. I need not follow the case further, 
since the details will appear in the evidence, but I 
may tell you that, in effect, it has been made clear, 
beyond all doubt, that the thumb-print on that paper 
was the thumb-print of the prisoner, Reuben Horn- 

by.” 

He paused to adjust his glasses, which were in 
the very act of falling from his nose, and hitch up 
his gown, while he took a leisurely survey of the jury, 
as though he were estimating their impressionability. 
At this moment I observed Walter Hornby enter the 
court and take up a position at the end of our bench 
nearest the door; and, immediately after, Super¬ 
intendent Miller came in and seated himself on one 
of the benches opposite. 

“The first witness whom I shall call/’ said Sir 
Hector Trumpler, “is John Hornby.” 

Mr. Hornby, looking wild and agitated, stepped 


222 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


into the witness-box, and the usher, having handed 
him the Testament, sang out— 

“The evidence you shall give to the court and jury 
sworn, between our Sovereign Lord the King and the 
prisoner at the bar shall be the truth, the whole 
truth, and nothing but the truth; so help you God!” 

Mr. Hornby kissed the Book, and casting a glance 
of unutterable misery at his nephew, turned towards 
the counsel. 

“Your name is John Hornby, is it not?” asked 
Sir Hector. 

“It is.” 

“And you occupy premises in St. Mary Axe?” 

“Yes. I am a dealer in precious metals, but my 
business consists principally in the assaying of 
samples of ore and quartz and bars of silver and 
gold.” 

“Do you remember what happened on the ninth 
of March last?” 

“Perfectly. My nephew Reuben—the prisoner— 
delivered to me a parcel of diamonds which he had 
received from the purser of the Elmina Castle, to 
whom I had sent him as my confidential agent. I 
had intended to deposit the diamonds with my 
banker, but when the prisoner arrived at my office, 
the banks were already closed, so I had to put the 
parcel, for the night, in my own safe. I may say 
that the prisoner was not in any way responsible for 
the delay.” 

“You are not here to defend the prisoner,” said 


THE FINGER-PRINT EXPERTS 223 


Sir Hector. “Answer my questions and make no 
comments, if you please. Was anyone present when 
you placed the diamonds in the safe?” 

“No one was present but myself.” 

“I did not ask if you were present when you put 
them in,” said Sir Hector (whereupon the spectators 
sniggered and the judge smiled indulgently). “What 
else did you do ?” 

“I wrote in pencil on a leaf of my pocket memo¬ 
randum block, ‘Handed in by Reuben at 7.3 p.m., 
9.3.01, and intialled it. Then I tore the leaf from 
the block and laid it on the parcel, after which I 
closed the safe and locked it.” 

“How soon did you leave the premises after 
this?” 

“Almost immediately. The prisoner was waiting 
for me in the outer office-” 

“Never mind where the prisoner was; confine your 
answers to what is asked. Did you take the keys 
with you?” 

“Yes.” 

“When did you next open the safe?” 

“On the following morning at ten o’clock.” 

“Was the safe locked or unlocked when you 
arrived?” 

“It was locked. I unlocked it.” 

“Did you notice anything unusual about the safe?” 
“No.” 

“Had the keys left your custody in the interval?” 



224 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“No. They were attached to a key-chain, which 
I always wear.” 

“Are there any duplicates of those keys?—the 
keys of the safe, I mean.” 

“No, there are no duplicates.” 

“Have the keys ever gone out of your posses¬ 
sion?” 

“Yes. If I have had to be absent from the office 
for a considerable time, it has been my custom to 
hand the keys to one of my nephews, whichever has 
happened to be in charge at the time.” 

“And never to any other person?” 

“Never to any other person.” 

“What did you observe when you opened the 
safe?” 

“I observed that the parcel of diamonds had dis¬ 
appeared.” 

“Did you notice anything else?” 

“Yes. I found the leaf from my memorandum 
block lying at the bottom of the safe. I picked it 
up and turned it over, and then saw that there were 
smears of blood on it and what looked like the print 
of a thumb in blood. The thumb-mark was on the 
under-surface, as the paper lay at the bottom of the 
safe.” 

“What did you do next?” 

“I closed and locked the safe, and sent a note to 
the police station saying that a robbery had been 
committed on my premises.” 


THE FINGER-PRINT EXPERTS 225 


“You have known the prisoner several years, I 
believe ?” 

“Yes, I have known him all his life. He is my 
eldest brother’s son.” 

“Then you can tell us, no doubt, whether he is 
left-handed or right-handed?” 

“I should say he was ambidextrous, but he uses 
his left hand by preference.” 

“A fine distinction, Mr. Hornby; a very fine dis¬ 
tinction. Now tell me, did you ascertain beyond 
all doubt that the diamonds were really gone?” 

“Yes; I examined the safe thoroughly, first by 
myself and afterwards with the police. There was 
no doubt that the diamonds had really gone.” 

“When the detective suggested that you should 
have the thumb-prints of your two nephews taken, 
did you refuse?” 

“I refused.” 

“Why did you refuse?” 

“Because I did not choose to subject my nephews 
to the indignity. Besides I had no power to make 
them submit to the proceeding.” 

“Had you any suspicions of either of them?” 

“I had no suspicions of anyone.” 

“Kindly examine this piece of paper, Mr. Horn¬ 
by,” said Sir Hector, passing across a small oblong 
slip, “and tell us if you recognise it.” 

Mr. Hornby glanced at the paper for a moment, 
and then said— 




226 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“This is the memorandum slip that I found lying 
at the bottom of the safe.” 

“How do you identify it?” 

“By the writing on it, which is in my own hand, 
and bears my initials.” 

“Is it the memorandum that you placed on the 
parcel of diamonds?” 

“Yes.” 

“Was there any thumb-mark or blood-smear on 
it when you placed it in the safe?” 

“No.” 

“Was it possible that there could have been any 
such marks?” 

“Quite impossible. I tore it from my memoran¬ 
dum block at the time I wrote upon it.” 

“Very well.” Sir Hector Trumpler sat down, 
and Mr. Anstey stood up to cross-examine the wit¬ 
ness. 

“You have told us, Mr. Hornby,” said he, “that 
you have known the prisoner all his life. Now what 
estimate have you formed of his character?” 

“I have always regarded him as a young man of 
the highest character—honorable, truthful, and in 
every way trustworthy. I have never, in all my 
experience of him, known him to deviate a hair’s- 
breadth from the strictest honor and honesty of 
conduct.” 

“You regarded him as a man of irreproachable 
character. Is that so?” 

“That is so; and my opinion of him is unchanged.” 


THE FINGER-PRINT EXPERTS 227 


“Has he, to your knowledge, any expensive or 
extravagant habits?” 

“No. His habits are simple and rather thrifty.” 

“Have you ever known him to bet, gamble, or 
speculate?” 

“Never.” 

“Has he ever seemed to be in want of money?” 

“No. He has a small private income, apart from 
his salary, which I know he does not spend, since 
I have occasionally employed my broker to invest 
his savings.” 

“Apart from the thumb-print which was found 
in the safe, are you aware of any circumstances that 
would lead you to suspect the prisoner of having 
stolen the diamonds?” 

“None whatever.” 

Mr. Anstey sat down, and as Mr. Hornby left the 
witness-box, mopping the perspiration from his fore¬ 
head, the next witness was called. 

“Inspector Sanderson!” 

The dapper police officer stepped briskly into the 
box, and having been duly sworn, faced the prosecut¬ 
ing counsel with the air of a man who was prepared 
for any contingency. 

“Do you remember,” said Sir Hector, after the 
usual preliminaries had been gone through, “what 
occurred on the morning of the tenth of March?” 

“Yes. A note was handed to me at the station 
at 10.23 a.m. It was from Mr. John Hornby, and 
stated that a robbery had occurred at his premises 


228 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


in St. Mary Axe. I went to the premises and arrived 
there at 10.31 a.m. There I saw the prosecutor, 
Mr. John Hornby, who told me that a parcel of 
diamonds had been stolen from the safe. At his 
request I examined the safe. There were no signs 
of its having been forced open; the locks seemed to 
be quite uninjured and in good order. Inside the 
safe, on the bottom, I found two good-sized drops 
of blood, and a slip of paper with pencil-writing on 
it. The paper bore blood-smears and a print of 
a human thumb in blood.” 

“Is this the paper?” asked the counsel, passing 
a small slip across to the witness. 

“Yes,” replied the inspector, after a brief glance 
at the document. 

“What did you do next?” 

“I sent a message to Scotland Yard acquainting 
the Chief of the Criminal Investigation Department 
with the facts, and then went back to the station. 
I had no further connection with the case.” 

Sir Hector sat down, and the judge glanced at 
Anstey. 

“You tell us,” said the latter, rising, “that you 
observed two good-sized drops of blood on the 
bottom of the safe. Did you notice the condition of 
the blood, whether moist or dry?” 

“The blood looked moist, but I did not touch it. 
I left it undisturbed for the detective officers to 
examine.” 

The next witness called was Sergeant Bates, of 


THE FINGER-PRINT EXPERTS 229 


the Criminal Investigation Department. He stepped 
into the box with the same ready, business-like-air 
as the other officer, and, having been sworn, pro¬ 
ceeded to give his evidence with a fluency that sug¬ 
gested careful preparation, holding an open note¬ 
book in his hand but making no references to it. 

“On the tenth of March, atl2.8 p.m., I received 
instructions to proceed to St. Mary Axe to inquire 
into a robbery that had taken place there. Inspector 
Sanderson’s report was handed to me, and I read it 
in the cab on my way to the premises. On arriving 
at the premises at 12.30 p.m., I examined the safe 
carefully. It was quite uninjured, and there were 
no marks of any kind upon it. I tested the locks 
and found them perfect; there were no marks or 
indications of any picklock having been used. On 
the bottom of the inside I observed two rather large 
drops of a dark fluid. I took up some of the fluid 
on a piece of paper and found it to be blood. I also 
found, in the bottom of the safe, the burnt head of 
a wax match, and, on searching the floor of the 
office, I found, close by the safe, a used wax match 
from which the head had fallen. I also found a slip 
of paper which appeared to have been torn from a 
perforated block. On it was written in pencil, 
‘Handed in by Reuben at 7.3 p.m. 9.3.01. J. H.’ 
There were two smears of blood on the paper and 
the impression of a human thumb in blood. I took 
possession of the paper in order that it might be ex¬ 
amined by the experts. I inspected the office doors 


230 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


and the outer door of the premises, but found no 
signs of forcible entrance on any of them. I ques¬ 
tioned the housekeeper, but obtained no information 
from him. I then returned to headquarters, made 
my report and handed the paper with the marks on 
it to the Superintendent.” 

“Is this the paper that you found in the safe?” 
asked the counsel, once more handing the leaflet 
across. 

“Yes; this is the paper.” 

“What happened next?” 

“The following afternoon I was sent for by Mr. 
Singleton, of the Finger-print Department. He in¬ 
formed me that he had gone through the files and 
had not been able to find any thumb-print resembling 
the one on the paper, and recommended me to en¬ 
deavor to obtain prints of the thumbs of any persons 
who might have been concerned in the robbery. He 
also gave me an enlarged photograph of the thumb¬ 
print for reference if necessary. I accordingly went 
to St. Mary Axe and had an interview with Mr. 
Hornby, when I requested him to allow me to take 
prints of the thumbs of all persons employed on the 
premises, including his two nephews. This he re¬ 
fused, saying that he distrusted finger-prints and 
that there was no suspicion of anyone on the 
premises. I asked if he would allow his nephews 
to furnish their thumb-prints privately, to which he 
replied, ‘Certainly not.’ ” 


THE FINGER-PRINT EXPERTS 231 


“Had you then any suspicion of either of the 
nephews?” 

“I thought they were both open to some suspicion. 
The safe had certainly been opened with false keys, 
and as they had both had the real keys in their pos¬ 
session it was possible that one of them might have 
taken impressions in wax and made counterfeit 
keys.” 

“Yes.” 

“I called on Mr. Hornby several times and urged 
him, for the sake of his nephews’ reputations, to 
sanction the taking of the thumb-prints; but he 
refused very positively and forbade them to submit, 
although I understood that they were both willing. 
It then occurred to me to try if I could get any help 
from Mrs. Hornby’s private house and saw her. 
I explained to her what was wanted to clear her 
nephews from the suspicion that rested on them, 
and she then said that she could dispose of those 
suspicions at once, for she could show me the thumb¬ 
prints of the whole family: she had them all in a 
‘Thumbograph.’ ” 

“A ‘Thumbograph’ ?” repeated the judge, “What 
is a ‘Thumbograph’?” 

Anstey rose with the little red-covered volume in 
his hand. 

“A ‘Thumbograph,’ my lord,” said he, “is a book, 
like this, in which foolish people collect the thumb¬ 
prints of their more foolish acquaintances.” 

He passed the volume up to the judge, who turned 





232 THE RED THUMB MARK 

over the leaves curiously and then nodded to the 
witness. 

‘‘Yes. She said she had them all in a ‘Thumbo- 
graph.’ ” 

“Then she fetched from a drawer a small red- 
covered book which she showed to me. It contained 
the thumb-prints of all the family and some of her 
friends.” 

“Is this the book?” asked the judge, passing the 
volume down to the witness. 

The sergeant turned over the leaves until he came 
to one which he apparently recognised, and said— 

“Yes, m’lord; this is the book. Mrs. Hornby 
showed me the thumb-prints of various members of 
the family, and then found those of the two nephews. 
I compared them with the photograph that I had 
with me and discovered that the print of the left 
thumb of Reuben Hornby was in every respect identi¬ 
cal with the thumb-print shown in the photograph.” 

“What did you do then?” 

“I asked Mrs. Hornby to lend me the ‘Thumbo- 
graph’ so that I might show it to the Chief of the 
Finger-print Department, to which she consented. 
I had not intended to tell her of my discovery, but, 
as I was leaving, Mr. Hornby arrived home, and 
when he heard of what had taken place, he asked 
me why I wanted the book, and then I told him. He 
was greatly astonished and horrified, and wished me 
to return the book at once. He proposed to let the 
whole matter drop and take the loss of the dia- 


THE FINGER-PRINT EXPERTS 233 


monds on himself; but I pointed out that this was 
impossible as it would practically amount to com¬ 
pounding a felony. Seeing that Mrs. Hornby was so 
distressed at the idea of her book being used in evi¬ 
dence against her nephew, I promised her that I 
would return it to her if I could obtain a thumb-print 
in any other way. 

“I then took the ‘Thumbograph’ to Scotland Yard 
and showed it to Mr. Singleton, who agreed that 
the print of the left thumb of Reuben Hornby was 
in every respect identical with the thumb-print on 
the paper found in the safe. On this I applied for 
a warrant for the arrest of Reuben Hornby, which 
I executed on the following morning. I told the 
prisoner what I had promised Mrs. Hornby, and he 
then offered to allow me to take a print of his left 
thumb so that his aunt’s book should not have to 
be used in evidence.” 

“How is it, then,” asked the judge, “that it has 
been put in evidence?” 

“It has been put in by the defence, my lord,” said 
Sir Hector Trumpler. 

“I see,” said the judge. “ ‘A hair of the dog 
that bit him.’ The ‘Thumbograph’ is to be applied 
as a remedy on the principle that similia similibus 
curantur. Well?” 

“When I arrested him, I administered the usual 
caution, and the prisoner then said, ‘I am innocent. 
I know nothing about the robbery.’ ” 


234 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


The counsel for the prosecution sat down, and 
Anstey rose to cross-examine. 

“You have told us,” said he, in his clear musical 
voice, “that you found at the bottom of the safe 
two rather large drops of a dark fluid which you 
considered to be blood. Now, what led you to be¬ 
lieve that fluid to be blood?” 

“I took some of the fluid up on a piece of white 
paper, and it had the appearance and color of 
blood.” 

“Was it examined microscopically or otherwise?” 

“Not to my knowledge.” 

“Was it quite liquid?” 

“Yes, I should say quite liquid.” 

“What appearance had it on paper?” 

“It looked like a clear red liquid of the color of 
blood, and was rather thick and sticky.” 

Anstey sat down, and the next witness, an elderly 
man, answering to the name of Francis Simmons, 
was called. 

“You are the housekeeper at Mr. Hornby’s 
premises in St. Mary Axe?” asked Sir Hector 
Trumpler. 

“I am.” 

“Did you notice anything unusual on the night 
of the ninth of March?” 

“I did not.” 

“Did you make your usual rounds on that 
occasion?” 

“Yes. I went all over the premises several times 


THE FINGER-PRINT EXPERTS 235 


during the night, and the rest of the time I was in 
a room over the private office.” 

“Who arrived first on the morning of the tenth?” 

“Mr. Reuben. He arrived about twenty minutes 
before anybody else.” 

“What part of the building did he go to?” 

“He went into the private office, which I opened 
for him. He remained there until a few minutes 
before Mr. Hornby arrived, when he went up to the 
laboratory.” 

“Who came next?” 

“Mr. Hornby, and Mr. Walter came in just after 
him.” 

The counsel sat down, and Anstey proceeded to 
cross-examine the witness. 

“Who was the last to leave the premises on the 
evening of the ninth?” 

“I am not sure.” 

“Why are you not sure?” 

“I had to take a note and a parcel to a firm in 
Shoreditch. When I started, a clerk named Thomas 
Holker was in the outer office and Mr. Walter 
Hornby was in the private office. When I returned 
they had both gone.” 

“Was the outer door locked?” 

“Yes.” 

“Had Holker a key of the outer door?” 

“No. Mr. Hornby and his two nephews had each 
a key, and I have one. No one else had a key.” 

“How long were you absent?” 


236 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“About three-quarters of an hour.” 

“Who gave you the note and the parcel?” 

“Mr. Walter Hornby.” 

“When did he give them to you?” 

“He gave them to me just before I started, and 
told me to go at once for fear the place should be 
closed before I got there.” 

“And was the place closed?” 

“Yes. It was all shut up, and everybody had 
gone.” 

Anstey resumed his seat, the witness shuffled out 
of the box with an air of evident relief, and the usher 
called out, “Henry James Singleton,” 

Mr. Singleton rose from his seat at the table by 
the solicitors for the prosecution and entered the box. 
Sir Hector adjusted his glasses, turned over a page 
of his brief, and cast a steady and impressive glance 
at the jury. 

“I believe, Mr. Singleton,” he said at length, 
“that you are connected with the Finger-print 
Department at Scotland Yard?” 

“Yes. I am one of the chief assistants in that 
department.” 

“What are your official duties?” 

“My principal occupation consists in the examina¬ 
tion and comparison of the finger-prints of criminals 
and suspected persons. These finger-prints are 
classified by me according to their characters and 
arranged in files for reference.” 


THE FINGER-PRINT EXPERTS 237 


“I take it that you have examined a great number 
of finger-prints?” 

“I have examined many thousands of finger¬ 
prints, and have studied them closely for purposes 
of identification.” 

“Kindly examine this paper, Mr. Singleton” (here 
the fatal leaflet was handed to him by the usher) ; 
“have you ever seen it before?” 

“Yes. It was handed to me for examination at 
my office on the tenth of March.” 

“There is a mark upon it—the print of a finger or 
thumb. Can you tell us anything about that mark?” 

“It is the print of the left thumb of Reuben Horn¬ 
by, the prisoner at the bar.” 

“You are quite sure of that?” 

“I am quite sure.” 

“Do you swear that the mark upon that paper 
was made by the thumb of the prisoner?” 

“Ido.” 

“Could it not have been made by the thumb of 
some other person?” 

“No; it is impossible that it could have been made 
by any other person.” 

At this moment I felt Juliet lay a trembling hand 
on mine, and, glancing at her, I saw that she was 
deathly pale. I took her hand in mine and, pressing 
it gently, whispered to her, “Have courage; there 
is nothing unexpected in this.” 

“Thank you,” she whispered in reply, with a faint 
smile; “I will try; but it is all so horribly unnerving.” 


238 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“You consider,” Sir Hector proceeded, “that the 
identity of this thumb-print admits of no doubt?” 

“It admits of no doubt whatever,” replied Mr. 
Singleton. 

“Can you explain to us, without being too tech¬ 
nical how you have arrived at such complete cer¬ 
tainty?” 

“I myself took a print of the prisoner’s thumb— 
having first obtained the prisoner’s consent after 
warning him that the print would be used in evidence 
against him—and I compared that print with the 
mark on this paper. The comparison was made 
with the greatest care and by the most approved 
method, point by point and detail by detail, and the 
two prints were found to be identical in every 
respect. 

“Now it has been proved by exact calculations— 
which calculations I have personally verified—that 
the chance that the print of a single finger of any 
given person will be exactly like the print of the 
same finger of any other given person is as one to 
sixty-four hundred millions. That is to say that, 
since the number of the entire human race is about 
sixteen hundred millions, the chance is about one to 
four that the print of a single finger of any one per¬ 
son will be identical with that of the same finger of 
any other member of the human race. 

“It has been said by a great authority—and I 
entirely agree with the statement—that a complete, 
or nearly complete, accordance between two prints 


THE FINGER-PRINT EXPERTS 239 


of a single finger affords evidence requiring no corro¬ 
boration that the persons from whom they were 
made are the same. 

“Now these calculations apply to the prints of 
ordinary and normal fingers or thumbs. But the 
thumb from which these prints were taken is not 
ordinary or normal. There is upon it a deep but 
clean linear scar—the scar of an old incised wound— 
and this scar passes across the pattern of the ridges, 
intersecting the latter at certain places and disturb¬ 
ing their continuity at others. Now this very char¬ 
acteristic scar is an additional feature, having a set 
of chances of its own. So that we have to consider 
not only the chance that the print of the prisoner’s 
left thumb should be identical with the print of some 
other person’s left thumb—which is as one to sixty- 
four hundred millions—but the further chance that 
these two identical thumb-prints should be traversed 
by the impression of a scar identical in size and 
appearance, and intersecting the ridges at exactly 
the same places and producing failures of continuity 
in the ridges of exactly the same character. But 
these two chances, multiplied into one another, yield 
an ultimate chance of about one to four thousand 
trillions that the prisoner’s left thumb will exactly 
resemble the print of some other person’s thumb, 
both as to the pattern and the scar which crosses the 
pattern; in other words such a coincidence is an utter 
impossibility.” 

Sir Hector Trumpler took off his glasses and 


240 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


looked long and steadily at the jury as though he 
should say, “Come, my friends; what do you think 
of that?” Then he sat down with a jerk and turned 
towards Anstey and Thorndyke with a look of 
triumph. 

“Do you propose to cross-examine the witness?” 
inquired the judge, seeing that the counsel for the 
defence made no sign. 

“No, my lord,” replied Anstey. 

Thereupon Sir Hector Trumpler turned once 
more towards the defending counsel, and his broad, 
red face was illumined by a smile of deep satisfac¬ 
tion. That smile was reflected on the face of Mr. 
Singleton as he stepped from the box, and, as I 
glanced at Thorndyke, I seemed to detect, for a 
single instant on his calm and immovable counten¬ 
ance, the faintest shadow of a smile. 

“Herbert John Nash!” 

A plump, middle-aged man, of keen, though studi¬ 
ous, aspect, stepped into the box, and Sir Hector 
rose once more. 

“You are one of the chief assistants in the Finger¬ 
print Department, I believe, Mr. Nash?” 

“I am.” 

“Have you heard the evidence of the last wit¬ 
ness?” 

“I have.” 

“Do you agree with the statements made by that 
witness?” 

“Entirely. I am prepared to swear that the print 


THE FINGER-PRINT EXPERTS 241 


on the paper found in the safe is that of the left 
thumb of the prisoner, Reuben Hornby.” 

“And you are certain that no mistake is possi¬ 
ble?” 

“I am certain that no mistake is possible.” 

Again Sir Hector glanced significantly at the jury 
as he resumed his seat, and again Anstey made no 
sign beyond the entry of a few notes on the margin 
of his brief. 

“Are you calling any more witnesses?” asked the 
judge, dipping his pen in the ink. 

“No, my lord,” replied Sir Hector. “That is 
our case.” 

Upon this Anstey rose and, addressing the judge, 
said— 

“I call witnesses, my lord.” 

The judge nodded and made an entry in his 
notes while Anstey delivered his brief introductory 
speech— 

“My lord and gentlemen of the jury, I shall not 
occupy the time of the Court with unnecessary 
appeals at this stage, but shall proceed to take the 
evidence of my witnesses without delay.” 

There was a pause of a minute or more, during 
which the silence was broken only by the rustle of 
papers and the squeaking of the judge’s quill pen. 
Juliet turned a white, scared face to me and said 
in a hushed whisper— 

“This is terrible. That last man’s evidence is 
perfectly crushing. What can possibly be said in 


242 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


reply? I am in despair; oh! poor Reuben 1 He is 
lost, Dr. Jervis! He hasn’t a chance now.” 

“Do you believe that he is guilty?” I asked. 

“Certainly not!” she replied indignantly. “I 
am as certain of his innocence as ever.” 

“Then,” said I, “if he is innocent, there must be 
some means of proving his innocence.” 

“Yes. I suppose so,” she rejoined in a dejected 
whisper. “At any rate we shall soon know now.” 

At this moment the usher’s voice was heard calling 
out the name of the first witness for the defence. 

“Edmund Horford Rowe!” 

A keen-looking, grey-haired man, with a shaven 
face and close-cut side-whiskers, stepped into the box 
and was sworn in due form. 

“You are a doctor of medicine, I believe,” said 
Anstey, addressing the witness, “and lecturer on 
Medical Jurisprudence at the South London Hospi¬ 
tal?” 

“I am.” 

“Have you had occasion to study the properties 
of blood?” 

“Yes. The properties of blood are of great im¬ 
portance from a medico-legal point of view.” 

“Can you tell us what happens when a drop of 
blood—say from a cut finger—falls upon a surface 
such as the bottom of an iron safe?” 

“A drop of blood from a living body falling upon 
any non-absorbent surface will, in the course of a 


THE FINGER-PRINT EXPERTS 243 


few minutes, solidify into a jelly which will, at first, 
have the same bulk and color as the liquid blood.” 

“Will it undergo any further change ?” 

“Yes. In a few minutes more the jelly will begin 
to shrink and become more solid so that the blood 
will become separated into two parts, the solid and 
the liquid. The solid part will consist of a firm, 
tough jelly of a deep red color, and the liquid part 
will consist of a pale yellow, clear, watery liquid.” 

“At the end, say, of two hours, what will be the 
condition of the drop of blood?” 

“It will consist of a drop of clear, nearly colorless 
liquid, in the middle of which will be a small, tough, 
red clot.” 

“Supposing such a drop to be taken up on a piece 
of white paper, what would be its appearance?” 

“The paper would be wetted by the colorless 
liquid, and the solid clot would probably adhere to 
the paper in a mass.” 

“Would the blood on the paper appear as a clear, 
red liquid?” 

“Certainly not. The liquid would appear like 
water, and the clot would appear as a solid mass 
sticking to the paper.” 

“Does blood always behave in the way you have 
described?” 

“Always, unless some artificial means are taken 
to prevent it from clotting.” 

“By what means can blood be prevented from 
clotting or solidifying?” 


244 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“There are two principal methods. One is to 
stir or whip the fresh blood rapidly with a bundle 
of fine twigs. When this is done, the fibrin—the 
part of the blood that causes solidification—adheres 
to the twigs, and the blood that remains, though it 
is unchanged in appearance, will remain liquid for 
an indefinite time. The other method is to dissolve 
a certain proportion of some alkaline salt in the 
fresh blood, after which it no longer has any tend¬ 
ency to solidify.” 

“You have heard the evidence of Inspector 
Sanderson and Sergeant Bates?” 

“Yes.” 

“Inspector Sanderson has told us that he exam¬ 
ined the safe at 10.31 a.m. and found two good- 
sized drops of blood on the bottom. Sergeant Bates 
has told us that he examined the safe two hours later, 
and that he took up one of the drops of blood on a 
piece of white paper. The blood was then quite 
liquid, and, on the paper, it looked like a clear, red 
liquid of the color of blood. What should you con¬ 
sider the condition and nature of that blood to have 
been?” 

“If it was really blood at all, I should say that it 
was either defibrinated blood—that is, blood from 
which the fibrin has been extracted by whipping— 
or that it had been treated with an alkaline salt.” 

“You are of opinion that the blood found in the 
safe could not have been ordinary blood shed from 
a cut or wound?” 


THE FINGER-PRINT EXPERTS 245 


“I am sure it could not have been.” 

“Now, Dr. Rowe, I am going to ask you a few 
questions on another subject. Have you given any 
attention to finger-prints made by bloody fingers?” 

“Yes. I have recently made some experiments 
on the subject.” 

“Will you give us the results of those experi¬ 
ments?” 

“My object was to ascertain whether fingers wet 
with fresh blood would yield distinct and character¬ 
istic prints. I made a great number of trials, and as 
a result found that it is extremely difficult to obtain 
a clear print when the finger is wetted with fresh 
blood. The usual result is a mere red blot showing 
no ridge pattern at all, owing to the blood filling the 
furrows between the ridges. But if the blood is 
allowed to dry almost completely on the finger, a 
very clear print is obtained.” 

“Is it possible to recognise a print that has been 
made by a nearly dry finger?” 

“Yes; quite easily. The half-dried blood is nearly 
solid and adheres to the paper in a different way 
from the liquid, and it shows minute details, such as 
the mouths of the sweat glands, which are always 
obliterated by the liquid.” 

“Look carefully at this paper, which was found 
in the safe, and tell me what you see.” 

The witness took the paper and examined it at¬ 
tentively, first with the naked eye and then with a 
pocket-lens. 


246 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“I see,” said he, “two blood-marks and a print, 
apparently of a thumb. Of the two marks, one is 
a blot, smeared slightly by a finger or thumb; the 
other is a smear only. Both were evidently pro¬ 
duced with quite liquid blood. The thumb-print was 
also made with liquid blood.” 

“You are quite sure that the thumb-print was 
made with liquid blood?” 

“Quite sure.” 

“Is there anything unusual about the thumb¬ 
print?” 

“Yes. It is extraordinarily clear and distinct. 
I have made a great number of trials and have en¬ 
deavored to obtain the clearest prints possible with 
fresh blood; but none of my prints are nearly as 
distinct as this one.” 

Here the witness produced a number of sheets of 
paper, each of which was covered with the prints of 
bloody fingers, and compared them with the memo¬ 
randum slip. 

The papers were handed to the judge for his 
inspection, and Anstey sat down, when Sir Hector 
Trumpler rose, with a somewhat puzzled expression 
on his face, to cross-examine. 

“You say that the blood found in the safe was 
defibrinated or artificially treated. What inference 
do your draw from that fact?” 

“I infer that it was not dropped from a bleeding 
wound.” 


THE FINGER-PRINT EXPERTS 247 

“Can you form any idea how such blood should 
have got into the safe?” 

“None whatever.” 

“You say that the thumb-print is a remarkably 
distinct one. What conclusion do you draw from 
that?” 

“I do not draw any conclusion. I cannot account 
for its distinctness at all.” 

The learned counsel sat down with rather a 
baffled air, and I observed a faint smile spread over 
the countenance of my colleague. 

“Arabella Hornby.” 

A muffled whimpering from my neighbor on the 
left hand was accompanied by a wild rustling of 
silk. Glancing at Mrs. Hornby, I saw her stagger 
from the bench, shaking like a jelly, mopping her 
eyes with her handkerchief and grasping her open 
purse. She entered the witness-box, and, having 
gazed wildly round the court, began to search the 
multitudinous compartments of her purse. 

“The evidence you shall give,” sang out the usher 
—whereat Mrs. Hornby paused in her search and 
stared at him apprehensively—“to the court and 
jury sworn, between our Sovereign Lord the King 
and the prisoner at the bar shall be the truth,-” 

“Certainly,” said Mrs. Hornby stiffly, “I-” 

“—the whole truth, and nothing but the truth; 
so help you God!” 

He held out the Testament, which she took from 
him with a trembling hand and forthwith dropped 




248 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


with a resounding bang on to the floor of the witness- 
box, diving after it with such precipitancy that her 
bonnet jammed violently against the rail of the box. 

She disappeared from view for a moment, and 
then rose from the depths with a purple face and 
her bonnet flattened and cocked over one ear like an 
artillery-man’s forage cap. 

“Kiss the Book, if you please,” said the usher, 
suppressing a grin by an heroic effort, as Mrs. Horn¬ 
by, encumbered by her purse, her handkerchief and 
the Testament, struggled to unfasten her bonnet- 
strings. She clawed frantically at her bonnet, and, 
having dusted the Testament with her handkerchief, 
kissed it tenderly and laid it on the rail of the box, 
whence it fell instantly on to the floor of the court. 

“I am really very sorry!” exclaimed Mrs. Horn¬ 
by, leaning over the rail to address the usher as he 
stooped to pick up the Book, and discharging on to 
his back a stream of coins, buttons and folded bills 
from her open purse; “you will think me very awk¬ 
ward, I’m afraid.” 

She mopped her face and replaced her bonnet 
rakishly on one side, as Anstey rose and passed a 
small red book across to her. 

“Kindly look at that book, Mrs. Hornby.” 

“I’d rather not,” said she, with a gesture of re¬ 
pugnance. “It is associated with matters of so ex¬ 
tremely disagreeable a character——” 

“Do you recognize it?” 



THE FINGER-PRINT EXPERTS 249 


“Do I recognize it! How can you ask me such 

a question when you must know-” 

“Answer the question,” interposed the judge “Do 
you or do you not recognize the book in your hand?” 
“Of course I recognize it. How could I fail 


“Then say so,” said the judge. 

“I have said so,” retorted Mrs. Hornby indig¬ 
nantly. 

The judge nodded to Anstey, who then con¬ 
tinued— 

“It is called a ‘Thumbograph,’ I believe.” 

“Yes: the name ‘Thumbograph’ is printed on the 
cover, so I suppose that is what it is called.” 

“Will you tell us, Mrs. Hornby, how the 
‘Thumbograph’ came into your posession?” 

For one moment Mrs. Hornby stared wildly at 
her interrogator; then she snatched a paper from her 
purse, unfolded it, gazed at it with an expression of 
dismay, and crumpled it up in the palm of her hand. 

“You are asked a question,” said the judge. 

“Oh! yes,” said Mrs. Hornby. “The Committee 
of the Society—no, that is the wrong one—I mean 
Walter, you know—at least-” 

“I beg your pardon,” said Anstey, with polite 
gravity. 

“You were speaking of the committee of some 
society,” interposed the judge. “What society were 
you referring to?” 





250 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


Mrs. Hornby spread out the paper and, after 
a glance at it, replied— 

“The Society of Paralysed Idiots, your worship,” 
whereat a rumble of suppressed laughter arose from 
the gallery. 

“But what has that society to do with the 
‘Thumbograph’ ?” inquired the judge. 

“Nothing, your worship. Nothing at all.” 

“Then why did you refer to it?” 

“I am sure I don’t know,” said Mrs. Hornby 
wiping her eyes with the paper and then hastily 
exchanging it for her handkerchief. 

The judge took off his glasses and gazed at Mrs. 
Hornby with an expression of bewilderment. Then 
he turned to the counsel and said in a weary voice— 

“Proceed, if you please, Mr. Anstey.” 

“Can you tell us, Mrs. Hornby, how the ‘Thumbo¬ 
graph’ came into your possession?” said the latter 
in persuasive accents. 

“I thought it was Walter, and so did my niece, 
but Walter says it was not, and he ought to know, 
being young and having a most excellent memory, 
as I had myself when I was his age, and really, you 
know, it can’t possibly matter where I got the 
thing-” 

“But it does matter,” interrupted Anstey. “We 
wish particularly to know.” 

“If you mean that you wish to get one like it-- 

“We do not,” said Anstey. “We wish to know 
how that particular ‘Thumbograph’ came into your 




THE FINGER-PRINT EXPERTS 251 


possession. Did you, for instance, buy it yourself, 
or was it given to you by someone?” 

“Walter says I bought it myself, but I thought he 

gave it to me, but he says he did not, and you 

_ _ _ » 

see- 

“Never mind what Walter says. What is your 
own impression?” 

“Why I still think that he gave it to me, though, 
of course, seeing that my memory is not what it 


“You think that Walter gave it to you?” 

“Yes, in fact I feel sure he did, and so does my 
niece.” 

“Walter is your nephew, Walter Hornby?” 

“Yes, of course. I thought you knew.” 

“Can you recall the occasion on which the 
‘Thumbograph’ was given to you?” 

“Oh yes, quite distinctly. We had some people 
to dinner—some people named Colley—not the 
Dorsetshire Colleys, you know, although they are 
exceedingly nice people, as I have no doubt the other 
Colleys are, too, when you know them, but we 
don’t. Well, after dinner we were a little dull and 
rather at a loss, because Juliet, my niece, you know, 
had cut her finger and couldn’t play the piano ex¬ 
cepting with the left hand, and that is so monotonous 
as well as fatiguing, and the Colleys are not musical, 
excepting Adolphus, who plays the trombone, but 
he hadn’t got it with him, and then, fortunately, 
Walter came in and brought the ‘Thumbograph’ 






252 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


and took all our thumb-prints and his own as well, 
and we were very much amused, and Matilda 
Colley— that is the eldest daughter but one—said 
that Reuben jogged her elbow, but that was only an 
excuse-” 

“Exactly,” interrupted Anstey. “And you re¬ 
collect quite clearly that your nephew Walter gave 
you the ‘Thumbograph’ on that occasion?” 

“Oh, distinctly; though, you know, he is really my 
husband’s nephew-” 

“Yes. And you are sure that he took the thumb¬ 
prints?” 

“Quite sure.” 

“And you are sure that you never saw the 
‘Thumbograph’ before that?” 

“Never. How could I? He hadn’t brought it.” 

“Have you ever lent the ‘Thumbograph’ to any¬ 
one?” 

“No, never. No one has ever wanted to borrow 
it, because, you see-” 

“Has it never, at any time, gone out of your 
possession?” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that; in fact, I have often 
thought, though I hate suspecting people, and I 
really don’t suspect anybody in particular, you know, 
but it certainly was very peculiar and I can’t explain 
it in any other way. You see, I kept the ‘Thumbo¬ 
graph’ in a drawer in my writing table, and in the 
same drawer I used to keep my handkerchief-bag— 
in fact I do still, and it is there at this very moment, 






THE FINGER-PRINT EXPERTS 253 


for in my hurry and agitation, I forgot about it 
until we were in the cab, and then it was too late, 
because Mr. Lawley-” 

“Yes. You kept it in a drawer with your hand- 
kerchief-bag.” 

“That was what I said. Well, when Mr. Hornby 
was staying at Brighton he wrote to ask me to go 
down for a week and bring Juliet—Miss Gibson, 
you know—with me. So we went, and, just as we 
were starting, I sent Juliet to fetch my handkerchief- 
bag from the drawer, and I said to her, ‘Perhaps 
we might take the thumb-book with us; it might 
come in useful on a wet day.’ So she went, and 
presently she came back and said that the ‘Thumbo- 
graph’ was not in the drawer. Well, I was so sur¬ 
prised that I went back with her and looked myself, 
and sure enough the drawer was empty. Well, I 
didn’t think much of it at the time, but when we came 
home again, as soon as we got out of the cab, I gave 
Juliet my handkerchief-bag to put away, and pres¬ 
ently she came running to me in a great state of ex¬ 
citement. ‘Why, Auntie,’ she said, ‘the “Thumbo- 
graph” is in the drawer; somebody must have been 
meddling with your writing table.’ I went with her 
to the drawer, and there, sure enough, was the 
‘Thumbograph.’ Somebody must have taken it out 
and put it back while we were away.” 

“Who could have had access to your writing 
table?” 

“Oh, anybody, because, you see, the drawers were 



254 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


never locked. We thought it must have been one 
of the servants.” 

“Had anyone been to the house during your 
absence?” 

“No. Nobody, except, of course, my two 
nephews; and neither of them had touched it, because 
we asked them, and they both said they had not.” 

“Thank you.” Anstey sat down, and Mrs. Horn¬ 
by having given another correcting twist to her bon¬ 
net, was about to step down from the box when Sir 
Hector rose and bestowed upon her an intimidating 
stare. 

“You made some reference,” said he, “to a society 
—the Society of Paralysed Idiots, I think, whatever 
that may be. Now what caused you to make that 
reference?” 

“It was a mistake; I was thinking of something 
else.” 

“I know it was a mistake. You referred to a 
paper that was in your hand.” 

“I did not refer to it, I merely looked at it. It is 
a letter from the Society of Paralysed Idiots. It is 
nothing to do with me really, you know; I don’t 
belong to the society, or anything of that sort.” 

“Did you mistake that paper for some other 
paper?” 

“Yes, I took it for a paper with some notes on it 
to assist my memory.” 

“What kind of notes?” 

“Oh just the questions I was likely to be asked.” 


THE FINGER-PRINT EXPERTS 255 


“Were the answers that you were to give to those 
questions also written on the paper?” 

“Of course they were. The questions would not 
have been any use without the answers.” 

“Have you been asked the questions that were 
written on the paper?” 

“Yes; at least, some of them.” 

“Have you given the answers that were written 
down ?” 

“I don’t think I have—in fact, I am sure I haven’t, 
because, you see-” 

“Ah! you don’t think you have.” Sir Hector 
Trumpler smiled significantly at the jury, and con¬ 
tinued— 

“Now who wrote down those questions and 
answers?” 

“My nephew, Walter Hornby. He thought, you 
know-” 

“Never mind what he thought. Who advised or 
instructed him to write them down?” 

“Nobody. It was entirely his own idea, and very 
thoughtful of him, too, though Dr. Jervis took the 
paper away from me and said I must rely on my 
memory.” 

Sir Hector was evidently rather taken aback by 
this answer, and sat down suddenly, with a distinctly 
chapfallen air. 

“Where is this paper on which the questions and 
answers are written?” asked the judge. In antici¬ 
pation of this inquiry I had already handed it to 




256 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


Thorndyke, and had noticed by the significant glance 
that he bestowed on me that he had not failed to 
observe the peculiarity in the type. Indeed the 
matter was presently put beyond all doubt, for he 
hastily passed to me a scrap of paper, on which I 
found, when I opened it out, that he had written 
“X - W.H.” 

As Anstey handed the rather questionable docu¬ 
ment up to the judge, I glanced at Walter Hornby 
and observed him to flush angrily, though he strove 
to appear calm and unconcerned, and the look that 
he directed at his aunt was very much the reverse 
of benevolent. 

“Is this the paper?” asked the judge, passing it 
down to the witness. 

“Yes, your worship,” answered Mrs. Hornby, in 
a tremulous voice; whereupon the document was 
returned to the judge, who proceeded to compare 
it with his notes. 

“I shall order this document to be impounded,” 
said he sternly, after making a brief comparison. 
“There has been a distinct attempt to tamper with 
witnesses. Proceed with your case, Mr. Anstey.” 

There was a brief pause, during which Mrs. 
Hornby tottered across the court and resumed her 
seat, gasping with excitement and relief; then the 
usher called out— 

“John Evelyn Thorndyke!” 

“Thank God!” exclaimed Juliet, clasping her 


THE FINGER-PRINT EXPERTS 257 


hands. “Oh! will he be able to save Reuben? Do 
you think he will, Dr. Jervis?” 

“There is someone who thinks he will,” I replied, 
glancing towards Polton, who, clasping in his arms 
the mysterious box and holding on to the microscope 
case, gazed at his master with a smile of ecstasy. 
“Polton has more faith than you have, Miss Gib¬ 
son.” 

“Yes, the dear, faithful little man!” she rejoined. 
“Well, we shall know the worst very soon now, at 
any rate.” 

“The worst or the best,” I said. “We are now 
going to hear what the defence really is.” 

“God grant that it may be a good defence,” she 
exclaimed in a low voice; and I—though not ordi¬ 
narily a religious man—murmured “Amen!” 


CHAPTER XVI 

THORNDYKE PLAYS HIS CARD 


S THORNDYKE took his place in the box 



I looked at him with a sense of unreasonable 


surprise, feeling that I had never before fully 
realized what manner of man my friend was as to 
his externals. I had often noted the quiet strength 
of his face, its infinite intelligence, its attractiveness 
and magnetism; but I had never before appreciated 
what now impressed me most: that Thorndyke was 
actually the handsomest man I had ever seen. He 
was dressed simply, his appearance unaided by the 
flowing gown or awe-inspiring wig, and yet his pres¬ 
ence dominated the court. Even the judge, despite 
his scarlet robe and trappings of office, looked com¬ 
monplace by comparison, while the jurymen, who 
turned to look at him, seemed like beings of an in¬ 
ferior order. It was not alone the distinction of the 
tall figure, erect and dignified, nor the power and 
massive composure of his face, but the actual sym¬ 
metry and comeliness of the face itself that now 
arrested my attention; a comeliness that made it 


THORNDYKE PLAYS HIS CARD 259 


akin rather to some classic mask, wrought in the 
ivory-toned marble of Pentelicus, than to the eager 
faces that move around us in the hurry and bustle 
of a life at once strenuous and trivial. 

“You are attached to the medical school at St. 
Margaret’s Hospital, I believe, Dr. Thorndyke?” 
said Anstey. 

“Yes. I am the lecturer on Medical Jurisprudence 
and Toxicology.” 

“Have you had much experience of medico-legal 
inquiries?” 

“A great deal. I am engaged exclusively in 
medico-legal work.” 

“You heard the evidence relating to the two 
drops of blood found in the safe?” 

“I did.” 

“What is your opinion as to the condition of that 
blood?” 

“I should say there is no doubt that it had been 
artificially treated—probably by defibrination.” 

“Can you suggest any explanation of the condi¬ 
tion of that blood?” 

“I can.” 

“Is your explanation connected with any pecu¬ 
liarities in the thumb-print on the paper that was 
found in the safe?” 

“It is.” 

“Have you given any attention to the subject of 
finger-prints?” 

“Yes. A great deal of attention.” 


260 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“Be good enough to examine that paper” (here 
the usher handed to Thorndyke the memorandum 
slip). “Have you seen it before ?” 

“Yes. I saw it at Scotland Yard.” 

“Did you examine it thoroughly?” 

“Very thoroughly. The police officials gave me 
every facility and, with their permission, I took 
several photographs of it.” 

“There is a mark on the paper resembling the 
print of a human thumb?” 

“There is.” 

“You have heard two expert witnesses swear that 
that mark was made by the left thumb of the 
prisoner, Reuben Hornby?” 

“I have.” 

“Do you agree to that statement?” 

“I do not.” 

“In your opinion, was the mark upon that paper 
made by the thumb of the prisoner?” 

“No. I am convinced that it was not made by 
the thumb of Reuben Hornby.” 

“Do you think that it was made by the thumb of 
some other person?” 

“No. I am of opinion that it was not made by 
a human thumb at all.” 

At this statement the judge paused for a moment, 
pen in hand, and stared at Thorndyke with his 
mouth slightly open, while the two experts looked 
at one another with raised eyebrows. 


THORNDYKE PLAYS HIS CARD 261 


“By what means do you consider that the mark 
was produced?” 

“By means of a stamp, either of indiarubber or, 
more probably, of chromicized gelatine.” 

Here Polton, who had been, by degrees, rising to 
an erect posture, smote his thigh a resounding 
thwack and chuckled aloud, a proceeding that caused 
all eyes, including those of the judge, to be turned 
on him. 

“If that noise is repeated,” said the judge, with 
a stony stare at the horrified offender—who had 
shrunk into the very smallest space that I have ever 
seen a human being occupy—“I shall cause the 
person who made it to be removed from the court.” 

“I understand, then,” pursued Anstey, “that you 
consider the thumb-print, which has been sworn to 
as the prisoner’s to be a forgery.” 

“Yes. It is a forgery.” 

“But is it possible to forge a thumb-print or a 
finger-print?” 

“It is not only possible, but quite easy to do.” 

“As easy as to forge a signature, for instance?” 

“Much more so, and infinitely more secure. A 
signature, being written with a pen, requires that 
the forgery should also be written with a pen, a 
process demanding very special skill and, after all, 
never resulting in an absolute facsimile . But a 
finger-print is a stamped impression—the finger-tip 
being the stamp; and it is only necessary to obtain 
a stamp identical in character with the finger-tip, in 


262 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


order to produce an impression which is an absolute 
facsimile, in every respect of the original, and totally 
indistinguishable from it.” 

“Would there be no means at all of detecting the 
difference between a forged finger-print and the 
genuine original?” 

“None whatever; for the reason that there would 
be no difference to detect.” 

“But you have stated, quite positively, that the 
thumb-print on this paper is a forgery. Now, if the 
forged print is indistinguishable from the original, 
how are you able to be certain that this particular 
print is a forgery?” 

“I was speaking of what is possible with due care; 
but, obviously, a forger might, through inadvertence, 
fail to produce an absolute facsimile and then detec¬ 
tion would be possible. That is what has happened 
in the present case. The forged print is not an 
absolute facsimile of the true print. There is a 
slight discrepancy. But, in addition to this, the 
paper bears intrinsic evidence that the thumb-print 
on it is a forgery.” 

“We will consider that evidence presently, Dr. 
Thorn dyke. To return to the possibility of forging 
a finger-print, can you explain to us, without being 
too technical, by what methods it would be possible 
to produce such a stamp as you have referred to?” 

“There are two principal methods that suggest 
themselves to me. The first, which is rather crude 
though easy to carry out, consists in taking an actual 


THORNDYKE PLAYS HIS CARD 263 


cast of the end of the finger. A mould would be 
made by pressing the finger into some plastic 
material, such as fine modelling clay or hot sealing 
wax, and then, by pouring a warm solution of gela¬ 
tine into the mould, and allowing it to cool and 
solidify, a cast would be produced which would yield 
very perfect finger-prints. But this method would, 
as a rule, be useless for the purpose of the forger, 
as it could not, ordinarily, be carried out without the 
knowledge of the victim; though in the case of dead 
bodies and persons asleep or unconscious or under 
an anaesthetic, it could be practised with success, and 
would offer the advantage of requiring practically 
no technical skill or knowledge and no special appli¬ 
ances. The second method, which is much more 
efficient, and is the one, I have no doubt, that has 
been used in the present instance, requires more 
knowledge and skill. 

“In the first place it is necessary to obtain posses¬ 
sion of, or access to, a genuine finger-print. Of this 
finger-print a photograph in taken, or rather, a 
photographic negative, which for this purpose re¬ 
quires to be taken on a reversed plate, and the nega¬ 
tive is put into a special printing frame with a plate 
of gelatine which has been treated with potassium 
bichromate, and the frame is exposed to light. 

“Now gelatine treated in this way—chromicized 
gelatine, as it is called—has a very peculiar property. 
Ordinarily gelatine, as is well known, is easily dis¬ 
solved in hot water, and chromicized gelatine is also 


264 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


soluble in hot water as long as it is not exposed 
to light; but on being exposed to light, it undergoes 
a change and is no longer capable of being dissolved 
in hot water. Now the plate of chromicized gelatine 
under the negative is protected from the light by 
the opaque parts of the negative, whereas the light 
passes freely through the transparent parts; but the 
transparent parts of the negative correspond to the 
black marks on the finger-print, and these corres¬ 
pond to the ridges on the finger. Hence it follows 
that the gelatine plate is acted upon by light only 
on the parts corresponding to the ridges; and in 
these parts the gelatine is rendered insoluble, while 
all the rest of the gelatine is soluble. The gelatine 
plate, which is cemented to a thin plate of metal for 
support, in now carefully washed with hot water, by 
which the soluble part of the gelatine is dissolved 
away leaving the insoluble part (corresponding to 
the ridges) standing up from the surface. Thus 
there is produced a facsimile in relief of the finger¬ 
print having actual ridges and furrows identical in 
character with the ridges and furrows of the finger¬ 
tip. If an inked roller is passed over this relief, or 
if the relief is pressed lightly on an inked slab, and 
then pressed on a sheet of paper, a finger-print will 
be produced which will be absolutely identical with 
the original, even to the little white spots which mark 
the orifices of the sweat glands. It will be impossible 
to discover any difference between the real finger- 


THORNDYKE PLAYS HIS CARD 265 


print and the counterfeit because, in fact, no differ¬ 
ence exists.” 

“But surely the process you have described is a 
very difficult and intricate one?” 

“Not at all; it is very little more difficult than 
ordinary carbon printing, which is practised success¬ 
fully by numbers of amateurs. Moreover, such a 
relief as I have described—which is practically 
nothing more than an ordinary process block— 
could be produced by any photo-engraver. The pro¬ 
cess that I have described is, in all essentials, that 
which is used in the reproduction of pen-and-ink 
drawings, and any of the hundreds of workmen who 
are employed in that industry could make a relief- 
block of a finger-print, with which an undetectable 
forgery could be executed.” 

“You have asserted that the counterfeit finger¬ 
print could not be distinguished from the original. 
Are you prepared to furnish proof that this is the 
case?” 

“Yes. I am prepared to execute a counterfeit of 
the prisoner’s thumb-print in the presence of the 
Court.” 

“And do you say that such a counterfeit would be 
indistinguishable from the original, even by the ex¬ 
perts?” 

“I do.” 

Anstey turned towards the judge. “Would your 
lordship give your permission for a demonstration 
such as the witness proposes?” 


266 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“Certainly,” replied the judge. “The evidence 
is highly material. How do you propose that the 
comparison should be made?” he added, addressing 
Thorndyke. 

“I have brought, for the purpose, my lord,” 
answered Thorndyke. “Some sheets of paper, each 
of which is ruled into twenty numbered squares. I 
propose to make on ten of the squares counterfeits 
of the prisoner’s thumb-mark, and to fill the remain¬ 
ing ten with real thumb-marks. I propose that the 
experts should then examine the paper and tell the 
Court which are the real thumb-prints and which 
are the false.” 

“That seems a fair and efficient test,” said his 
lordship. “Have you any objection to offer, Sir 
Hector?” 

Sir Hector Trumpler hastily consulted with the 
two experts, who were sitting in the attorney’s bench, 
and then replied, without much enthusiasm— 

“We have no objection to offer, my lord.” 

“Then, in that case, I shall direct the expert wit¬ 
nesses to withdraw from the court while the prints 
are being made.” 

In obedience to the judge’s order, Mr. Singleton 
and his colleague rose and left the court with evident 
reluctance, while Thorndyke took from a small port¬ 
folio three sheets of paper which he handed up to 
the judge. 

“If your lordship,” said he, “will make marks in 
ten of the squares on two of these sheets, one can 


THORNDYKE PLAYS HIS CARD 267 


be given to the jury and one retained by your lord- 
ship to check the third sheet when the prints are 
made on it.” 

“That is an excellent plan,” said the judge; “and, 
as the information is for myself and the jury, it 
would be better if you came up and performed the 
actual stamping on my table in the presence of the 
foreman of the jury and the counsel for the prosecu¬ 
tion and defence.” 

In accordance with the judge’s direction Thorn- 
dyke stepped up on the dais, and Anstey, as he rose 
to follow, leaned over towards me. 

“You and Polton had better go up too,” said he; 
“Thorndyke will want your assistance, and you may 
as well see the fun. I will explain to his lordship.” 

He ascended the stairs leading to the dais and 
addressed a few words to the judge, who glanced 
in our direction and nodded, whereupon we both 
gleefully followed our counsel, Polton carrying the 
box and beaming with delight. 

The judge’s table was provided with a shallow 
drawer which pulled out at the side and which accom¬ 
modated the box comfortably, leaving the small 
table-top free for the papers. When the lid of the 
box was raised, there were displayed a copper ink- 
ingslab, a small roller and the twenty-four “pawns” 
which had so puzzled Polton, and on which he now 
gazed with a twinkle of amusement and triumph. 

“Are those all stamps?” inquired the judge, glanc¬ 
ing curiously at the array of turned-wood handles. 


268 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“They are all stamps, my lord,” replied Thorn- 
dyke, “each is taken from a different impression of 
the prisoner’s thumb.” 

“But why so many?” asked the judge. 

“I have multiplied them,” answered Thorndyke, 
as he squeezed out a drop of finger-print ink on to 
the slab and proceeded to roll it out into a thin film, 
“to avoid the tell-tale uniformity of a single stamp. 
And I may say,” he added, “that it is highly impor¬ 
tant that the experts should not be informed that 
more than one stamp has been used.” 

“Yes, I see that,” said the judge. “You under¬ 
stand that, Sir Hector,” he added, addressing the 
counsel, who bowed stiffly, clearly regarding the 
entire proceeding with extreme disfavor. 

Thorndyke now inked one of the stamps and 
handed it to the judge, who examined it curiously 
and then pressed it on a piece of waste paper, on 
which there immediately appeared a very distinct 
impression of a human thumb. 

“Marvellous!” he exclaimed. “Most ingenious! 
Too ingenious!” He chuckled softly and added, as 
he handed the stamp and the paper to the foreman 
of the jury: “It is well, Dr. Thorndyke, that you 
are on the side of law and order, for I am afraid 
that, if you were on the other side, you would be one 
too many for the police. Now, if you are ready, 
we will proceed. Will you, please, stamp an im¬ 
pression in square number three.” 

Thorndyke drew a stamp from its compartment, 


THORNDYKE PLAYS HIS CARD 269 


inked it on the slab, and pressed it nearly on the 
square indicated, leaving there a sharp, clear thumb¬ 
print. 

The process was repeated on nine other squares, a 
different stamp being used for each impression. The 
judge then marked the ten corresponding squares of 
the other two sheets of paper, and having checked 
them, directed the foreman to exhibit the sheet 
bearing the false thumb-prints to the jury, together 
with the marked sheet which they were to retain, 
to enable them to check the statements of the expert 
witnesses. When this was done, the prisoner was 
brought from the dock and stood beside the table. 
The judge looked with a curious and not unkindly 
interest at the handsome, manly fellow who stood 
charged with a crime so sordid and out of character 
with his appearance, and I felt, as I noted the look, 
that Reuben would, at least, be tried fairly on the 
evidence, without prejudice or even with some pre¬ 
possession in his favor. 

With the remaining part of the operation Thorn- 
dyke proceeded carefully and deliberately. The 
inking-slab was rolled afresh for each impression, 
and, after each, the thumb was cleansed with petrol 
and thoroughly dried; and when the process was 
completed and the prisoner led back to the dock, the 
twenty squares on the paper were occupied by twenty 
thumb-prints, which, to my eye, at any rate, were 
identical in character. 

The judge sat for near upon a minute poring over 


270 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


this singular document with an expression half-way 
between a frown and a smile. At length, when we 
had all returned to our places, he directed the usher 
to bring in the witnesses. 

I was amused to observe the change that had come 
over the experts in the short interval. The confident 
smile, the triumphant air of laying down a trump 
card, had vanished, and the expression of both was 
one of anxiety, not unmixed with apprehension. As 
Mr. Singleton advanced hesitatingly to the table, 
I recalled the words that he had uttered in his room 
at Scotland Yard; evidently his scheme of the game 
that was to end in an easy checkmate, had not in¬ 
cluded the move that had just been made. 

“Mr. Singleton,” said the judge, “here is a paper 
on which there are twenty thumb-prints. Ten of 
them are genuine prints of the prisoner’s left thumb 
and ten are forgeries. Please examine them and 
note down in writing which are the true prints and 
which are the forgeries. When you have made your 
notes the paper will be handed to Mr. Nash.” 

“Is there any objection to my using the photo¬ 
graph that I have with me for comparison, my 
lord?” asked Mr. Singleton. 

“I think not,” replied the judge. “What do you 
say, Mr. Anstey?” 

“No objection whatever, my lord,” answered 
Anstey. 

Mr. Singleton accordingly drew from his pocket 
an enlarged photograph of the thumb-print and a 


THORNDYKE PLAYS HIS CARD 271 


magnifying glass, with the aid of which he explored 
the bewildering array of prints on the paper before 
him; and as he proceeded I remarked with satisfac¬ 
tion that his expression became more and more dubi¬ 
ous and worried. From time to time he made an 
entry on a memorandum slip beside him, and, as the 
entries accumulated, his frown grew deeper and his 
aspect more puzzled and gloomy. 

At length he sat up, and taking the memorandum 
slip in his hand, addressed the judge. 

“I have finished my examination, my lord.” 

‘‘Very well. Mr. Nash, will you kindly examine 
the paper and write down the results of your ex¬ 
amination?” 

“Oh! I wish they would make haste,” whispered 
Juliet. “Do you think they will be able to tell the 
real from the false thumb-prints?” 

“I can’t say,” I replied; “but we shall soon know. 
They looked all alike to me.” 

Mr. Nash made his examination with exasperat¬ 
ing deliberateness, and preserved throughout an air 
of stolid attention; but at length he, too, completed 
his notes and handed the paper back to the usher. 

“Now, Mr. Singleton,” said the judge, “let us 
hear your conclusions. You have been sworn.” 

Mr. Singleton stepped into the witness-box, and, 
laying his notes on the ledge, faced the judge. 

“Have you examined the paper that was handed 
to you?” asked Sir Hector Trumpler. 

“I have.” 


272 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“What did you see on the paper?” 

“I saw twenty thumb-prints, of which some were 
evident forgeries, some were evidently genuine, and 
some were doubtful.” 

“Taking the thumb-prints seriatim, what have you 
noted about them?” 

Mr. Singleton examined his notes and replied— 

“The thumb-print on square one is evidently a 
forgery, as is also number two, though it is a pass¬ 
able imitation. Three and four are genuine; five is 
an obvious forgery. Six is a genuine thumb-print; 
seven is a forgery, though a good one; eight is 
genuine; nine is, I think, a forgery, though it is a 
remarkably good imitation. Ten and eleven are 
genuine thumb-marks; twelve and thirteen are for- 
ierges; but as to fourteen I am very doubtful, though 
I am inclined to regard it as a forgery. Fifteen is 
geniune, and I think sixteen is also; but I will 
not swear to it. Seventeen is certainly genuine, 
Eighteen and nineteen I am rather doubtful about, 
but I am disposed to consider them both forgeries. 
Twenty is certainly a genuine thumb-print.” 

As Mr. Singleton’s evidence proceeded, a look of 
surprise began to make its appearance on the judge’s 
face, while the jury glanced from the witness to the 
notes before them and from their notes to one 
another in undisguised astonishment. 

As to Sir Hector Trumpler, that luminary of Brit¬ 
ish jurisprudence was evidently completely fogged; 
for, as statement followed statement, he pursed up 


THORNDYKE PLAYS HIS CARD 273 


his lips and his broad, red face, became over¬ 
shadowed by an expression of utter bewilderment. 

For a few seconds he stared blankly at his witness 
and then dropped on to his seat with a thump that 
shook the court. 

“You have no doubt,” said Anstey, “as to the 
correctness of your conclusions? For instance, you 
are quite sure that the prints one and two are 
forgeries?” 

“I have no doubt.” 

“You swear that those two prints are forgeries?” 

Mr. Singleton hesitated for a moment. He had 
been watching the judge and the jury and had ap¬ 
parently misinterpreted their surprise, assuming it 
to be due to his own remarkable powers of dis¬ 
crimination; and his confidence had revived accord¬ 
ingly. 

“Yes,” he answered; “I swear that they are 
forgeries.” 

Anstey sat down, and Mr. Singleton, having 
passed his notes up to the judge, retired from the 
box, giving place to his colleague. 

Mr. Nash, who had listened with manifest satis¬ 
faction to the evidence stepped into the box with all 
his original confidence restored. His selection of 
the true and the false thumb-prints was practically 
identical with that of Mr. Singleton, and his knowl¬ 
edge of this fact led him to state his conclusions with 
an air that was authoritative and even dogmatic. 

“I am quite satisfied of the correctness of my 


274 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


statements,” he said, in reply to Anstey’s question, 
“and I am prepared to swear, and do swear, that 
those thumb-prints which I have stated to be 
forgeries, are forgeries, and that their detection pre¬ 
sents no difficulty to an observer who has an expert 
acquaintance with finger-prints.” 

“There is one question that I should like to ask,” 
said the judge, when the expert had left the box and 
Thorndyke had re-entered it to continue his evi¬ 
dence. “The conclusions of the expert witnesses— 
manifestly bona fide conclusions, arrived at by 
individual judgement, without collusion or compari¬ 
son of results—are practically identical. They are 
virtually in complete agreement. Now, the strange 
thing is this: their conclusions are wrong in every 
instance” (here I nearly laughed aloud, for, as I 
glanced at the two experts, the expression of smug 
satisfaction on their countenances changed with 
lightning rapidity to a ludicrous spasm of consterna¬ 
tion) ; “not sometimes wrong and sometimes right, 
as would have been the case if they had made mere 
guesses, but wrong every time. When they are quite 
certain, they are quite wrong; and when they are 
doubtful, they incline to the wrong conclusion. This 
is a very strange coincidence, Dr. Thorndyke. Can 
you explain it?” 

Thorndyke’s face, which throughout the proceed¬ 
ings had been as expressionless as that of a wooden 
figurehead, now relaxed into a dry smile. 

“I think I can, my lord,” he replied. “The object 


THORNDYKE PLAYS HIS CARD 275 


of a forger in executing a forgery is to produce de¬ 
ception on those who shall examine the forgery.” 

“AhF’said the judge; and his face relaxed into a 
dry smile, while the jury broke out into unconcealed 
grins. 

“It was evident to me,’’continued Thorndyke, 
“that the experts would be unable to distinguish the 
real from the forged thumb-prints, and, that being 
so, that they would look for some collateral evidence 
to guide them. I, therefore, supplied that collateral 
evidence. Now, if ten prints are taken, without 
special precautions, from a single finger, it will 
probably happen that no two of them are exactly 
alike; for the finger being a rounded object of which 
only a small part touches the paper, the impressions 
produced will show little variations according to the 
part of the finger by which the print is made. But 
a stamp such as I have used has a flat surface like 
that of a printer’s type, and, like a type, it always 
prints the same impression. It does not reproduce 
the finger-tip, but a particular print of the finger, and 
so, if ten prints are made with a single stamp, each 
print will be a mechanical repetition of the other 
nine. Thus, on a sheet bearing twenty finger-prints, 
of which ten were forgeries made with a single 
stamp, it would be easy to pick out the ten forged 
prints by the fact that they would all be mechanical 
repetitions of one another; while the genuine prints 
could be distinguished by the fact of their presenting 
trifling variations in the position of the finger. 


276 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“Anticipating this line of reasoning, I was careful 
to make each print with a different stamp and each 
stamp was made from a different thumb-print, and 
I further selected thumb-prints which varied as 
widely as possible when I made the stamps. More¬ 
over, when I made the real thumb-prints, I was 
careful to put the thumb down in the same position 
each time as far as I was able; and so it happened 
that, on the sheet submitted to the experts, the real 
thumb-prints were nearly all alike, while the 
forgeries presented considerable variations. The 
instances in which the witnesses were quite certain 
were those in which I succeeded in making the 
genuine prints repeat one another, and the doubtful 
cases were those in which I partially failed.” 

“Thank you, that is quite clear,” said the judge, 
with a smile of deep content, such as is apt to appear 
on the judicial countenance when an expert witness 
is knocked off his pedestal. “We may now proceed, 
Mr. Anstey.” 

“You have told us,” resumed Anstey, “and have 
submitted proofs, that it is possible to forge a 
thumb-print so that detection is impossible. You 
have also stated that the thumb-print on the paper 
found in Mr. Hornby’s safe is a forgery. Do you 
mean that it may be a forgery, or that it actually is 
one?” 

“I mean that it actually is a forgery.” 

“When did you first come to the conclusion that 
it was a forgery?” 


THORNDYKE PLAYS HIS CARD 277 

“When I saw it at Scotland Yard. There are 
three facts which suggested this conclusion. In the 
first place the print was obviously produced with 
liquid blood, and yet it was a beautifully clear and 
distinct impression. But such an impression could 
not be produced with liquid blood without the use 
of a slab and roller, even if great care were used, 
and still less could it have been produced by an acci¬ 
dental smear. 

“In the second place, on measuring the print with 
a micrometer, I found that it did not agree in dimen¬ 
sions with a geniune thumb-print of Reuben Hornby. 
It was appreciably larger. I photographed the print 
with the micrometer in contact and on comparing 
this with a genuine thumb-print, also photographed 
with the same micrometer in contact, I found that 
the suspected print was larger by the fortieth of an 
inch, from one given point on the ridge-pattern to 
another given point. I have here enlargements of 
the two photographs in which the disagreement in 
size is clearly shown by the lines of the micrometer. 
I have also the micrometer itself and a portable 
microscope, if the Court wishes to veriTy the photo¬ 
graphs.” 

“Thank you,” said the judge, with a bland smile; 
“We will accept your sworn testimony unless the 
learned counsel for the prosecution demands verifi¬ 
cation.” 

He received the photographs which Thorndyke 


278 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


handed up and, having examined them with close 
attention, passed them on to the jury. 

“The third fact,” resumed Thorndyke, “is of 
much more importance, since it not only proves the 
print to be a forgery, but also furnishes a very dis¬ 
tinct clue to the origin of the forgery, and so to the 
identity of the forger.” (Here the court became 
hushed until the silence was so profound that the 
ticking of the clock seemed a sensible interruption. 
I glanced at Walter, who sat motionless and rigid 
at the end of the bench, and perceived that a horrible 
pallor had spread over his face, while his forehead 
was covered with beads of perspiration.) “On 
looking at the print closely, I noticed at one part a 
minute white mark or space. It was of the shape 
of a capital S and had evidently been produced by a 
defect in the paper—a loose fibre which had stuck 
to the thumb and been detached by it from the 
paper, leaving a blank space where it had been. 
But, on examining the paper under a low power of 
the microscope, I found the surface to be perfect and 
intact. No loose fibre had been detached from it, 
for if it had, the broken end or, at least, the groove 
in which it had lain, would have been visible. The 
inference seemed to be that the loose fibre had 
existed, not in the paper which was found in the safe, 
but in the paper on which the original thumb-mark 
had been made. Now, as far as I knew, there was 
only one undoubted thumb-print of Reuben Horn¬ 
by’s in existence—the one in the ‘Thumbograph.’ 


THORNDYKE PLAYS HIS CARD 279 


At my request, the ‘Thumbograph’ was brought to 
my chambers by Mrs. Hornby, and, on examining 
the print of Reuben Hornby’s left thumb, I per- 
cieved on it a minute, S-shaped white space occupying 
a similar position to that in the red thumb-mark; and 
when I looked at it through a powerful lens, I 
could clearly see the little groove in the paper in 
which the fibre had lain and from which it had been 
lifted by the inked thumb. I subsequently made a 
systematic comparison of the marks in the two 
thumb-prints; I found that the dimensions of the 
mark were proportionally the same in each—that is 
to say, the mark in the ‘Thumbograph’ print had an 
extreme length of ~~ of an inch and an extreme 
breadth of ~~ of an inch, while that in the red 
thumb-mark was one-fortieth larger in each dimen¬ 
sion, having an extreme length of of an inch 

and an extreme breadth of of an inch; that 

the shape was identical, as was shown by super¬ 
imposing tracings of greatly enlarged photographs 
of each mark on similar enlargements of the other; 
and that the mark intersected the ridges of the 
thumb-print in the same manner and at exactly the 
same parts in the two prints.” 

“Do you say that—having regard to the facts 
which you have stated—it is certain that the red 
thumb-mark is a forgery?” 

“I do; and I also say that it is certain that the 
forgery was executed by means of the ‘Thumbo¬ 
graph.’ ” 


280 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“Might not the resemblances be merely a coin¬ 
cidence ?” 

“No. By the law of probabilities which Mr. 
Singleton explained so clearly in his evidence, the 
adverse chances would run into untold millions. 
Here are two thumb-prints made in different places 
and at different times—an interval of many weeks 
intervening. Each of them bears an accidental mark 
which is due not to any peculiarity of the thumb, 
but to a peculiarity of the paper. On the theory of 
coincidences it is necessary to suppose that each 
piece of paper had a loose fibre of exactly identical 
shape and size and that this fibre came, by accident, 
in contact with the thumb at exactly the same spot. 
But such a supposition would be more opposed to 
probabilities even than the supposition that two 
exactly similar thumb-prints should have been made 
by different persons. And then there is the further 
fact that the paper found in the safe had no loose 
fibre to account for the mark.” 

“What is your explanation of the presence of 
defibrinated blood in the safe?” 

“It was probably used by the forger in making 
the thumb-print, for which purpose fresh blood 
would be less suitable by reason of its clotting. He 
would probably have carried a small quantity in a 
bottle, together with the pocket slab and roller 
invented by Mr. Galton. It would thus be possible 
for him to put a drop on the slab, roll it out into a 
thin film and take a clean impression with his stamp. 


THORNDYKE PLAYS HIS CARD 281 


It must be remembered that these precautions 
were quite necessary, since he had to make a recog¬ 
nizable print at the first attempt. A failure and a 
second trial would have destroyed the accidental 
appearance, and might have aroused suspicion.” 

“You have made some enlarged photographs of 
the thumb-prints, have you not?” 

“Yes. I have here two enlarged photographs, 
one of the ‘Thumbograph’ print and one of the red 
thumb-print. They both show the white mark very 
clearly and will assist comparison of the originals, 
in which the mark is plainly visible through a lens.” 

He handed the two photographs up to the judge, 
together with the ‘Thumbograph,’ the memorandum 
slip, and a powerful doublet lens with which to 
examine them. 

The judge inspected the two original documents 
with the aid of the lens and compared them with 
the photographs, nodding approvingly as he made 
out the points of agreement. Then he passed them 
on to the jury and made an entry in his notes. 

While this was going on my attention was at¬ 
tracted by Walter Hornby. An expression of terror 
and wild despair had settled on his face, which was 
ghastly in its pallor and bedewed with sweat. He 
looked furtively at Thorndyke and, as I noted the 
murderous hate in his eyes, I recalled our midnight 
adventure in John Street and the mysterious cigar. 

Suddenly he rose to his feet, wiping his brow and 
steadying himself against the bench with a shaking 


282 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


hand; then he walked quietly to the door and went 
out. Apparently, I was not the only onlooker who 
had been interested in his doings, for, as the door 
swung to after him, Superintendent Miller rose from 
his seat and went out by the other door. 

“Are you cross-examining this witness?” the 
judge inquired, glancing at Sir Hector Trumpler. 

“No, my lord,” was the reply. 

“Are you calling any more witnesses, Mr. An- 
stey ?” 

“Only one, my lord,” replied Anstey—“the 
prisoner, whom I shall put in the witness-box, as a 
matter of form, in order that he may make a state¬ 
ment on oath.” 

Reuben was accordingly conducted from the dock 
to the witness-box, and, having been sworn, made a 
solemn declaration of his innocence. A brief cross- 
examination followed, in which nothing was elicited, 
but that Reuben had spent the evening at his club 
and gone home to his rooms about half-past eleven 
and had let himself in with his latchkey. Sir Hector 
at length sat down; the prisoner was led back to 
the dock, and the Court settled itself to listen to 
the speeches of the counsel. 

“My lord and gentlemen of the jury,” Anstey 
commenced in Kis clear, mellow tones, “I do not 
propose to occupy your time w 7 ith a long speech. 
The evidence that has been laid before you is at once 
so intelligible, so lucid, and so conclusive, that you 
will, no doubt, arrive at your verdict uninfluenced 


THORNDYKE PLAYS HIS CARD 283 


by any display of rhetoric either on my part or on 
the part of the learned counsel for the prosecution. 

“Nevertheless, it is desirable to disentangle from 
the mass of evidence those facts which are really 
vital and crucial. 

“Now the one fact which stands out and domin¬ 
ates the whole case is this: The prisoner’s connec¬ 
tion with this case rests solely upon the police theory 
of the infallibility of finger-prints. Apart from the 
evidence of the thumb-print there is not, and there 
never was, the faintest breath of suspicion against 
him. You have heard him described as a man of 
unsullied honor, as a man whose character is above 
reproach; a man who is trusted implicitly by those 
who have had dealings with him. And this char¬ 
acter was not given by a casual stranger, but by one 
who has known him from childhood. His record 
is an unbroken record of honorable conduct; his life 
has been that of a clean-living, straightforward 
gentleman. And now he stands before you charged 
with a miserable, paltry theft; charged with having 
robbed that generous friend, the brother of his own 
father, the guardian of his childhood and the bene¬ 
factor who has planned and striven for his well¬ 
being; charged, in short, gentlemen, with a crime 
which every circumstance connected with him and 
every trait of his known character renders utterly 
inconceivable. Now upon what grounds has this 
gentleman of irreproachable character been charged 
with this mean and sordid crime ? Baldly stated, the 


284 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


grounds of the accusation are these: A certain 
learned and eminent man of science has made a 
statement, which the police have not merely accepted 
but have, in practice, extended beyond its original 
meaning. That statement is as follows: ‘A com¬ 
plete, or nearly complete, accordance between two 
prints of a single finger . . . affords evidence re¬ 
quiring no corroboration, that the persons from 
whom they were made are the same.’ 

“That statement, gentlemen, is in the highest 
degree misleading, and ought not to have been made 
without due warning and qualification. So far is it 
from being true, in practice, that its exact contrary 
is the fact; the evidence of a finger-print, in the 
absence of corroboration, is absolutely worthless. 
Of all forms of forgery, the forgery of a finger-print 
is the easiest and most secure, as you have seen in 
this court to-day. Consider the character of the 
high-class forger—his skill, his ingenuity, his re¬ 
source. Think of the forged banknotes, of which 
not only the engraving, the design and the signature, 
but even the very paper with its private watermarks, 
is imitated with a perfection that is at once the 
admiration and the despair of those who have to 
distinguish the true from the false; think of the 
forged check in which actual perforations are filled 
up, of which portions are cut out bodily and re¬ 
placed by indistinguishable patches; think of these, 
and then of a finger-print, of which any photo¬ 
engraver’s apprentice can make you a forgery that 


THORNDYKE PLAYS HIS CARD 285 

the greatest experts cannot distinguish from the 
original, which any capable amateur can imitate be¬ 
yond detection after a month’s practice; and then 
ask yourselves if this is the kind of evidence on 
which, without any support or corroboration, a 
gentleman of honor and position should be dragged 
before a criminal court and charged with having 
committed a crime of the basest and most sordid 
type. 

“But I must not detain you with unnecessary 
appeals. I will remind you briefly of the salient 
facts. The case for the prosecution rests upon the 
assertion that the thumb-print found in the safe was 
made by the thumb of the prisoner. If that thumb¬ 
print was not made by the prisoner, there is not only 
no case against him but no suspicion of any kind. 

“Now, was that thumb-print made by the 
prisoner’s thumb? You have had conclusive evi¬ 
dence that it was not. That thumb-print differed 
in the size or scale, of the pattern from a genuine 
thumb-print of the prisoner’s. The difference was 
small, but it was fatal to the police theory; the two 
prints were not identical. 

“But, if not the prisoner’s thumb-print, what 
was it? The resemblance of the pattern was too 
exact for it to be the thumb-print of another person, 
for it reproduced not only the pattern of the ridges 
on the prisoner’s thumb, but also the scar of an old 
wound. The answer that I propose to this question 
is, that it was an intentional imitation of the 


286 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


prisoner’s thumb-print, made with the purpose of 
fixing suspicion on the prisoner, and so ensuring the 
safety of the actual criminal. Are there any facts 
which support this theory? Yes, there are several 
facts which support it very strongly. 

“First, there are the facts that I have just men¬ 
tioned. The red thumb-print disagreed with the 
genuine print in its scale or dimensions. It was not 
the prisoner’s thumb-print; but neither was it that 
of any other person. The only alternative is that 
it was a forgery. 

“In the second place, that print was evidently 
made with the aid of certain appliances and materi¬ 
als, and one of those materials, namely defibrinated 
blood, was found in the safe. 

“In the third place, there is the coincidence that 
the print was one which it was possible to forge. 
The prisoner has ten digits—eight fingers and two 
thumbs. But there were in existence actual prints of 
the two thumbs, whereas no prints of the fingers 
were in existence; hence it would have been impossi¬ 
ble to forge a print of any of the fingers. So it hap¬ 
pens that the red thumb-print resembled one of the 
two prints of which forgery was possible. 

“In the fourth place, the red thumb-print repro¬ 
duces an accidental peculiarity of the ‘Thumbo- 
graph’ print. Now, if the red thumb-print is a 
forgery, it must have been made from the ‘Thumbo- 
graph’ print, since there exists no other print from 
which it could have been made. Hence we have 


THORNDYKE PLAYS HIS CARD 287 


the striking fact that the red thumb-print is an exact 
replica—including accidental peculiarities—of the 
only print from which a forgery could have been 
made. The accidental S-shaped mark in the 
‘Thumbograph’ print is accounted for by the condi¬ 
tion of the paper; the occurence of this mark in the 
red thumb-print is not accounted for by any peculi¬ 
arity of the paper, and can be accounted for in no 
way, excepting by assuming the one to be a copy of 
the other. The conclusion is thus inevitable that 
the red thumb-print is a photo-mechanical reproduc¬ 
tion of the ‘Thumbograph’ print. 

“But there is yet another point. If the red thumb¬ 
print is a forgery reproduced from the ‘Thumbo¬ 
graph’ print, the forger must at some time have 
had access to the ‘Thumbograph.’ Now, you have 
heard Mrs. Hornby’s remarkable story of the mys¬ 
terious disappearance of the ‘Thumbograph’ and 
its still more mysterious reappearance. That story 
can have left no doubt in your minds that some 
person had surreptitiously removed the ‘Thumbo¬ 
graph’ and, after an unknown interval, secretly re¬ 
placed it. Thus the theory of forgery receives con¬ 
firmation at every point, and is in agreement with 
every known fact; whereas the theory that the red 
thumb-print was a genuine thumb-print, is based 
upon a gratuitous assumption, and has not had a 
single fact advanced in its support. 

“Accordingly, gentlemen, I assert that the pri¬ 
soner’s innocence has been proved in the most com- 


288 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


plete and convincing manner, and I ask you for a 
verdict in accordance with that proof.” 

As Anstey resumed his seat, a low rumble of 
applause was heard from the gallery. It subsided 
instantly on a gesture of disapproval from the judge, 
and a silence fell upon the court, in which the clock, 
with cynical indifference, continued to record in 
its brusque monotone the passage of the fleeting 
seconds. 

“He is saved, Dr. Jervis! Oh! surely he is 
saved!” Juliet exclaimed in an agitated whisper. 
“They must see that he is innocent now.” 

“Have patience a little longer,” I answered. “It 
will soon be over now.” 

Sir Hector Trumpler was already on his feet and, 
after bestowing on the jury a stern hypnotic stare, 
he plunged into his reply with a really admirable 
air of conviction and sincerity. 

“My lord and gentlemen of the jury: The case 
which is now before this Court is one, as I have 
already remarked, in which human nature is pre¬ 
sented in a highly unfavorable light. But I need not 
insist upon this aspect of the case, which will al¬ 
ready, no doubt, have impressed you sufficiently. It 
is necessary merely for me, as my learned friend 
has aptly expressed it, to disentangle the actual facts 
of the case from the web of casuistry that has been 
woven around them. 

“Those facts are of extreme simplicity. A safe 
has been opened and property of great value ab- 


THORNDYKE PLAYS HIS CARD 289 


stracted from it. It has been opened by means of 
false keys. Now there are two men who have, from 
time to time, had possession of the true keys, and 
thus had the opportunity of making copies of them. 
When the safe is opened by its rightful owner, the 
property is gone and there is found the print of the 
thumb of one of these two men. That thumb-print 
was not there when the safe was closed. The man 
whose thumb-print is found is a left-handed man; 
the print is the print of a left thumb. It would 
seem, gentlemen, as if the conclusion were so obvi¬ 
ous that no sane person could be found to contest 
it; and I submit that the conclusion which any sane 
person would arrive at—the only possible conclusion 
—is, that the person whose thumb-print was found 
in the safe is the person who stole the property from 
the safe. But the thumb-print was, admittedly, that 
of the prisoner at the bar, and therefore the prisoner 
at the bar is the person who stole the diamonds from 
the safe. 

“It is true that certain fantastic attempts have 
been made to explain away these obvious facts. 
Certain far-fetched scientific theories have been 
propounded and an exhibition of legerdemain has 
taken place which, I venture to think, would have 
been more appropriate to some place of public enter¬ 
tainment than to a court of justice. That exhibi¬ 
tion has, no doubt, afforded you considerable amuse¬ 
ment. It has furnished a pleasing relaxation from 
the serious business of the court. It has even been 


290 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


instructive, as showing to what extent it is possible 
for plain facts to be perverted by misdirected in¬ 
genuity. But unless you are prepared to consider 
this crime as an elaborate hoax—as a practical joke 
carried out by a facetious criminal of extraordinary 
knowledge, skill and general attainments—you must, 
after all, come to the only conclusion that the facts 
justify: that the safe was opened and the property 
abstracted by the prisoner. Accordingly, gentle¬ 
men, I ask you, having regard to your important 
position as the guardians of the well-being and 
security of your fellow-citizens, to give your verdict 
in accordance with the evidence, as you have 
solemnly sworn to do; which verdict, I submit, can 
be no other than that the prisoner is guilty of the 
crime with which he is charged.” 

Sir Hector sat down, and the jury, who had 
listened to his speech with stolid attention, gazed ex¬ 
pectantly at the judge, as though they should say: 
“Now, which of these two are we to believe?” 

The judge turned over his notes with an air of 
quiet composure, writing down a word here and 
there as he compared the various points in the evi¬ 
dence. Then he turned to the jury with a manner 
at once persuasive and confidential— 

“It is not necessary, gentlemen,” he commenced, 
“for me to occupy your time with an exhaustive 
analysis of the evidence. That evidence you your¬ 
selves have heard, and it has been given, for the 
most part, with admirable clearness. Moreover, the 


THORNDYKE PLAYS HIS CARD 291 


learned counsel for the defence has collated and com¬ 
pared that evidence so lucidly, and, I may say, so 
impartially, that a detailed repetition on my part 
would be superfluous. I shall therefore confine my¬ 
self to a few comments which may help you in the 
consideration of your verdict. 

“I need hardly point out to you that the refer¬ 
ence made by the learned counsel for the prosecution 
to far-fetched scientific theories is somewhat mis¬ 
leading. The only evidence of a theoretical char¬ 
acter was that of the finger-print experts. The evi¬ 
dence of Dr. Rowe and of Dr. Thorndyke dealt 
exclusively with matters of fact. Such inferences as 
were drawn by them were accompanied by state¬ 
ments of the facts which yielded such inferences. 

“Now an examination of the evidence which you 
have heard shows, as the learned counsel for the 
defence has justly observed, that the entire case 
resolves itself into a single question, which is this: 
‘Was the thumb-print that was found in Mr. Horn¬ 
by’s safe made by the thumb of the prisoner, or was 
it not?” If that thumb-print was made by the 
prisoner’s thumb, then the prisoner must, at least, 
have been present when the safe was unlawfully 
opened. If that thumb-print was not made by the 
prisoner’s thumb, there is nothing to connect him 
with the crime. The question is one of fact upon 
which it will be your duty to decide; and I must 
remind you, gentlemen, that you are the sole judges 
of the facts of the case, and that you are to consider 


292 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


any remarks of mine as merely suggestions which 
you are to entertain or to disregard according to 
your judgement. 

“Now let us consider this question by the light of 
the evidence. This thumb-print was either made 
by the prisoner or it was not. What evidence has 
been brought forward to show that it was made by 
the prisoner? Well, there is the evidence of the 
ridge-pattern. That pattern is identical with the 
pattern of the prisoner’s thumb-print, and even has 
the impression of a scar which crosses the pattern in 
a particular manner in the prisoner’s thumb-print. 
There is no need to enter into the elaborate calcula¬ 
tions as to the chances of agreement; the practical 
fact, which is not disputed, is that if this red thumb¬ 
print is a genuine thumb-print at all, it was made 
by the prisoner’s thumb. But it is contended that 
it is not a genuine thumb-print; that it is a 
mechanical imitation—in fact a forgery. 

“The more general question thus becomes nar¬ 
rowed down to the more particular question: ‘Is 
this a genuine thumb-print or is it a forgery?’ Let 
us consider the evidence. First, what evidence is 
there that it is a genuine thumb-print? There is 
none. The identity of the pattern is no evidence on 
this point, because a forgery would also exhibit 
identity of pattern. The genuiness of the thumb¬ 
print was assumed by the prosecution, and no evi¬ 
dence has been offered. 


THORNDYKE PLAYS HIS CARD 293 


“But now what evidence is there that the red 
thumb-print is a forgery? 

“First, there is the question of size. Two differ¬ 
ent-sized prints could hardly be made by the same 
thumb. Then there is the evidence of the use of 
appliances. Safe-robbers do not ordinarily provide 
themselves with inking-slabs and rollers with which 
to make distinct impressions of their own fingers. 
Then there is the accidental mark on the print which 
also exists on the only genuine print that could have 
been used for the purpose of forgery, which is easily 
explained on the theory of a forgery, but which is 
otherwise totally incomprehensible. Finally, there 
is the strange disappearance of the ‘Thumbograph’ 
and its strange reappearance. All this is striking 
and weighty evidence, to which must be added that 
adduced by Dr. Thorndyke as showing how per¬ 
fectly it is possible to imitate a finger-print. 

“These are the main facts of the case, and it is 
for you to consider them. If, on careful considera¬ 
tion, you decide that the red thumb-print was act¬ 
ually made by the prisoner’s thumb, then it will be 
your duty to pronounce the prisoner guilty; but if, 
on weighing the evidence, you decide that the thumb¬ 
print is a forgery, then it will be your duty to pro¬ 
nounce the prisoner not guilty. It is now past the 
usual luncheon hour, and, if you desire it, you can 
retire to consider your verdict while the Court 
adjourns.” 


294 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


The jurymen whispered together for a few 
moments and then the foreman stood up. 

“We have agreed on our verdict, my lord,” he 
said. 

The prisoner, who had just been led to the back 
of the dock, was now brought to the bar. The 
grey-wigged clerk of the court stood up and ad¬ 
dressed the jury. 

“Are you all agreed upon your verdict, gentle¬ 
men?” 

“We are,” replied the foreman. 

“What do you say, gentlemen? Is the prisoner 
guilty or not guilty?” 

“Not guilty,” replied the foreman, raising his 
voice and glancing at Reuben. 

A storm of applause burst from the gallery and 
was for the moment, disregarded by the judge. 
Mrs. Hornby laughed aloud—a strange, unnatural 
laugh—and then crammed her handkerchief into 
her mouth, and so sat gazing at Reuben with the 
tears coursing down her face, while Juliet laid her 
head upon the desk and sobbed silently. 

After a brief space the judge raised an admoni¬ 
tory hand, and, when the commotion had subsided, 
addressed the prisoner, who stood at the bar, calm 
and self-possessed, though his face bore a slight 
flush— 

“Reuben Hornby, the jury, after duly weighing 
the evidence in this case, have found you to be not 
guilty of the crime with which you were charged. 


THORNDYKE PLAYS HIS CARD 295 


With that verdict I most heartily agree. In view 
of the evidence which has been given, I consider that 
no other verdict was possible, and I venture to say 
that you leave this court with your innocence fully 
established, and without a stain upon your character. 
In the distress which you have recently suffered, as 
well as in your rejoicing at the verdict of the jury, 
you have the sympathy of the Court, and of every¬ 
one present, and that sympathy will not be dimin¬ 
ished by the consideration that, with a less capable 
defence, the result might have been very different. 

“I desire to express my admiration at the manner 
in which that defence was conducted, and I desire 
especially to observe that not you alone, but the 
public at large, are deeply indebted to Dr. Thorn- 
dyke, who, by his insight, his knowledge and his in¬ 
genuity has probably averted a very serious mis¬ 
carriage of justice. The Court will now adjourn 
until half-past two.” 

The judge rose from his seat and everyone present 
stood up; and, amidst the clamor of many feet upon 
the gallery stairs, the door of the dock was thrown 
open by a smiling police officer and Reuben came 
down the stairs into the body of the court. 


CHAPTER XVII 

AT LAST 

UTX7 E had better let the people clear off,” 
said Thorndyke, when the first greet¬ 
ings were over and we stood around 
Reuben in the fast-emptying court. “We don’t want 
a demonstration as we go out.” 

“No; anything but that, just now,” replied Reu¬ 
ben. He still held Mrs. Hornby’s hand, and one 
arm was passed through that of his uncle, who 
wiped his eyes at intervals, though his face glowed 
with delight. 

“I should like you to come and have a little quiet 
luncheon with me at my chambers—all of us friends 
together,” continued Thorndyke. 

“I should be delighted,” said Reuben, “if the 
programme would include a satisfactory wash.” 

“You will come, Anstey?” asked Thorndyke. 

“What have you got for lunch?” demanded 
Anstey, who was now disrobed and in his right mind 
—that is to say, in his usual whimsical, pseudo- 
frivolous character. 


296 


AT LAST 297 

“That question savors of gluttony,” answered 
Thorndyke. “Come and see.” 

“I will come and eat, which is better,” answered 
Anstey, “and I must run off now, as I have to look 
in at my chambers.” 

“How shall we go?” asked Thorndyke, as his 
colleague vanished through the doorway. “Polton 
has gone for a four-wheeler, but it won’t hold us 
all.” 

“It will hold four of us,” said Reuben, “and Dr. 
Jervis will bring Juliet; won’t you, Jervis?” 

The request rather took me aback, considering the 
circumstances, but I was conscious, nevertheless, of 
an unreasonable thrill of pleasure and answered 
with alacrity: “If Miss Gibson will allow me, I shall 
be very delighted.” My delight was, apparently, 
not shared by Juliet, to judge by the uncomfortable 
blush that spread over her face. She made no ob¬ 
jection, however, but merely replied rather coldly: 
“Well, as we can’t sit on the roof of the cab, we had 
better go by ourselves.” 

The crowd having by this time presumably cleared 
off, we all took our way downstairs. The cab was 
waiting at the curb, surrounded by a group of specta¬ 
tors, who cheered Reuben as he appeared at the 
doorway, and we saw our friends enter and drive 
away. Then we turned and walked quickly down 
the Old Bailey towards Ludgate Hill. 

“Shall we take a hansom?” I asked. 

“No; let us walk,” replied Juliet; “a little fresh 


298 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


air will do us good after that musty, horrible court. 
It all seems like a dream, and yet what a relief—oh! 
what a relief it is.” 

“It is rather like the awakening from a nightmare 
to find the morning sun shining,” I rejoined. 

“Yes; that is just what it is like,” she agreed; 
“but I still feel dazed and shaken.” 

We turned presently down New Bridge Street, 
towards the Embankment, walking side by side 
without speaking, and I could not help comparing, 
with some bitterness, our present stiff and distant 
relations with the intimacy and comradeship that 
had existed before the miserable incident of our last 
meeting. 

“You don’t look so jubilant over your success as 
I should have expected,” she said at length, with a 
critical glance at me; “but I expect you are really 
very proud and delighted, aren’t you?” 

“Delighted, yes; not proud. Why should I be 
proud? I have only played jackal, and even that 
I have done very badly.” 

“That is hardly a fair statement of the facts,” 
she rejoined, with another quick, inquisitive look at 
me; “but you are in low spirits to-day—which is not 
at all like you. Is it not so?” 

“I am afraid I am a selfish, egotistical brute,” was 
my gloomy reply. “I ought to be as gay and joyful 
as everyone else to-day, whereas the fact is that I am 
chafing over my own petty troubles. You see, now 
that this case is finished, my engagement with Dr. 


AT LAST 


299 


Thorndyke terminates automatically, and I relapse 
into my old life—a dreary repetition of journeying 
amongst strangers—and the prospect is not in¬ 
spiriting. This has been a time of bitter trial to you, 
but to me it has been a green oasis in the desert of a 
colorless, monotonous life. I have enjoyed the 
companionship of a most lovable man, whom I ad¬ 
mire and respect above all other men, and with him 
have moved in scenes full of color and interest. And 
I have made one other friend whom I am loath 
to see fade out of my life, as she seems likely to do.” 

“If you mean me,” said Juliet, “I may say that it 
will be your own fault if I fade out of your life. I 
can never forget all that you have done for us, your 
loyalty to Reuben, your enthusiasm in his cause, to 
say nothing of your many kindnesses to me. And, 
as to your having done your work badly, you wrong 
yourself grievously. I recognized in the evidence by 
which Reuben was cleared to-day how much you had 
done, in filling in the details, towards making the 
case complete and convincing. I shall always feel 
that we owe you a debt of the deepest gratitude, 
and so will Reuben, and so, perhaps, more than 
either of us, will someone else.” 

“And who is that?” I asked, though with no great 
interest. The gratitude of the family was a matter 
of little consequence to me. 

“Well, it is no secret now,” replied Juliet. “I 
mean the girl whom Reuben is going to marry. 


300 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


What is the matter, Dr. Jervis?” she added, in a 
tone of surprise. 

We were passing through the gate that leads from 
the Embankment to Middle Temple Lane, and I 
had stopped dead under the archway, laying a de¬ 
taining hand upon her arm and gazing at her in utter 
amazement. 

“The girl that Reuben is going to marry!” I 
repeated. “Why, I had always taken it for granted 
that he was going to marry you.” 

“But I told you, most explicitly, that was not so!” 
she exclaimed with some impatience. 

“I know you did,” I admitted ruefully; “but I 
thought—well, I imagined that things had, perhaps, 
not gone quite smoothly and-” 

“Did you suppose that if I had cared for a man 
and that man had been under a cloud, I should have 
denied the relation or pretended that we were 
merely friends?” she demanded indignantly. 

“I am sure you wouldn’t,” I replied hastily. “I 
was a fool, an idiot—by Jove, what an idiot I have 
been!” 

“It was certainly very silly of you,” she admitted; 
but there was a gentleness in her tone that took 
away all bitterness from the reproach. 

“The reason of the secrecy was this,” she con¬ 
tinued; “they became engaged the very night before 
Reuben was arrested, and, when he heard of the 
charge against him, he insisted that no one should 
be told unless, and until, he was fully acquitted. I 



AT LAST 


301 


was the only person who was in their confidence, and 
as I was sworn to secrecy, of course I couldn’t tell 
you; nor did I suppose that the matter would interest 
you. Why should it?” 

“Imbecile that I am,” I murmured. “If I had 
only known!” 

“Well, if you had known,” said she; “what differ¬ 
ence could it have made to you?” 

This question she asked without looking at me, 
but I noted that her cheek had grown a shade paler. 

“Only this,” I answered. “That I should have 
been spared many a day and night of needless self- 
reproach and misery.” 

“But why?” she asked, still keeping her face 
averted. “What had you to reproach yourself 
with?” 

“A great deal,” I answered, “if you consider my 
supposed position. If you think of me as the trusted 
agent of a man, helpless and deeply wronged—a 
man whose undeserved misfortunes made every 
demand upon chivalry and generosity; if you think 
of me as being called upon to protect and carry com¬ 
fort to the woman whom I regarded as, virtually, 
that man’s betrothed wife; and then if you think of 
me as proceeding straightway, before I had known 
her twenty-four hours, to fall hopelessly in love with 
her myself, you will admit that I had something to 
reproach myself with.” 

She was still silent, rather pale and very thought- 


302 THE RED THUMB MARK 

ful, and she seemed to breathe more quickly than 
usual. 

“Of course,” I continued, “you may say that it 
was my own look-out, that I had only to keep my 
own counsel, and no one would be any the worse. 
But there’s the mischief of it. How can a man who 
is thinking of a woman morning, noon and night; 
whose heart leaps at the sound of her coming, whose 
existence is a blank when she is away from him—a 
blank which he tries to fill by recalling, again and 
again, all that she has said and the tones of her 
voice, and the look that was in her eyes when she 
spoke—how can he help letting her see, sooner or 
later, that he cares for her? And if he does, when 
he has no right to, there is an end of duty and 
chivalry and even common honesty.” 

“Yes, I understand now,” said Juliet softly. “Is 
this the way?” She tripped up the steps leading 
to Fountain Court and I followed cheerfully. Of 
course it was not the way, and we both knew it, but 
the place was silent and peaceful, and the plane-trees 
cast a pleasant shade on the gravelled court. I 
glanced at her as we walked slowly towards the 
fountain. The roses were mantling in her cheeks 
now and her eyes were cast down, but when she 
lifted them to me for an instant, I saw that they were 
shining and moist. 

“Did you never guess?” I asked. 

“Yes,” she replied in a low voice, “I guessed; but 


AT LAST 303 

—but then,” she added shyly, “I thought I had 
guessed wrong.” 

We walked on for some little time without speak¬ 
ing again until we came to the further side of the 
fountain, where we stood listening to the quiet 
trickle of the water, and watching the sparrows as 
they took their bath on the rim of the basin. A 
little way off another group of sparrows had 
gathered with greedy joy around some fragments of 
bread that had been scattered abroad by the benov- 
olent Templars, and hard by a more sentimentally- 
minded pigeon, unmindful of the crumbs and the 
marauding sparrows, puffed out his breast and 
strutted and curtsied before his mate with endearing 
gurgles. 

Juliet had rested her hand on one of the little 
posts that support the chain by which the fountain is 
enclosed and I had laid my hand on hers. Presently 
she turned her hand over so that mine lay in its 
palm; and so we were standing hand-in-hand when 
an elderly gentleman, of dry and legal aspect, came 
up the steps and passed by the fountain. He looked 
at the pigeons and then he looked at us, and went his 
way smiling and shaking his head. 

“Juliet,” said I. 

She looked up quickly with sparkling eyes and a 
frank smile that was yet a little shy, too. 

“Yes.” 

“Why did he smile—that old gentleman—when 
he looked at us?” 


304 


THE RED THUMB MARK 


“I can’t imagine,” she replied mendaciously. 

“It was an approving smile,” I said. “I think 
he was remembering his own spring-time and giving 
us his blessing.” 

“Perhaps he was,” she agreed. “He looked a 
nice old thing.” She gazed fondly at the retreating 
figure and then turned again to me. Her cheeks had 
grown pink enough by now, and in one of them a 
dimple displayed itself to great advantage in its rosy 
setting. 

“Can you forgive me, dear, for my unutterable 
folly?” I asked presently, as she glanced up at me 
again. 

“I am not sure,” she answered. “It was dread¬ 
fully silly of you.” 

“But remember, Juliet, that I loved you with my 
whole heart—as I love you now and shall love you 
always.” 

“I can forgive you anything when you say that,” 
she answered softly. 

Here the voice of the distant Temple clock was 
heard uttering a polite protest. With infinite reluc¬ 
tance we turned away from the fountain, which 
sprinkled us with a parting benediction, and slowly 
retraced our steps to Middle Temple Lane and 
thence into Pump Court. 

“You haven’t said it, Juliet,” I whispered, as we 
came through the archway into the silent, deserted 
court. 


AT LAST 305 

“Haven’t I, dear?” she answered; “but you know 
it, don’t you? You know I do.” 

“Yes, I know,” I said; “and that knowledge is all 
my heart’s desire.” 

She laid her hand in mine for a moment with a 
gentle pressure and then drew it away; and so we 
passed through into the cloisters. 

THE END 


























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